An Apostle of Gloom (18 page)

“A brick wall of some thickness,” Mark said.

“Ye-es. On the other hand, he may have killed her and, knowing that he couldn't save himself no matter what he did, he just let things go. He acted dumb all the time – he was never very bright mentally. I once thought that the defence might try to prove insanity, Oliphant hinted at it once or twice, but Oliphant's a good enough lawyer to know whether the plea would have a chance of success. He hardly said a word once he was caught, it seemed as if the shock was too much for him. Dull-witted,” he added,
“very
dull-witted.” His voice rose.
“Too
dull-witted?”

“What the deuce are you getting at?” demanded Mark.

Roger said, gently: “I'm wondering if Cox was drugged before we caught him and whether that made him seem so dull?”

 

 

Mark said that it was a possibility, but he wondered whether Roger were not allowing his imagination to run away with him. Roger agreed that it was only possible but he went into the other room and took out the files of the Cox Case. He turned up the medical reports and scanned them carefully. Three doctors had examined the man, one for the police, two for the defence. They were unanimous in saying that Cox had been a person of low mentality, very nearly sub-normal. The police doctor said that there was no doubt at all that he knew what he was doing and he was fully responsible for his actions. Obviously medical opinion for the defence had not really thought it possible to prove otherwise, and so the defence, in the hands of Oliphant, had not tried to sway the jury on the grounds of insanity.

‘Reflexes, dull,' Roger read, ‘pulse below normal, pupils enlarged . . .”

“Well?” asked Mark, after nearly half an hour's silence. “Have you found anything?”

Roger looked at him steadily but seemed to be thinking of something else.

“Er—no,” he said. “That is—no, it
can't
be!”

“How brightly he goes on,” drawled Mark.

“Be quiet!” snapped Janet.

Roger looked at her and smiled vaguely. Lois's voice came from the other room, only occasionally interrupted by Tennant's. Now and again Roger, hearing footsteps outside, looked up as if he half expected them to come into the room. He was on edge because he was afraid that Malone would find out where Lois was staying; of Malone's intention towards the girl there was little doubt. If she was found, her life would not be worth a moment's purchase – that was dramatic but an inescapable fact. Undoubtedly a police station cell would be the safest place for her, if she could be persuaded to go to one. She would be afraid that he was going back on his promise, of course. The very word ‘cell' might make her withdraw all she had said.

He thought again of Friday the 13th.

The sordid little house, the floorboards, the nauseating smell, the ‘straightforward' murder and the dull-witted Cox. He remembered him at the police station awaiting the second hearing at the police court; he had been remanded for eight days at the first.

“I just can't credit it!” he exclaimed, standing up and pushing his chair back.

Mark shrugged his shoulders and said in sepulchral tones: “The great policeman is slowly going insane.”

This time Janet said: “Can't we help, Roger?”

“No-o,” said Roger, brushing his hair back, slowly, as he recollected. “No. That is – I was at New Street collecting all the paraphernalia of evidence. The camera work was done, and the fingerprints. I'd found the hammer which Cox used. There were bloodstains on the wood, he hadn't cleaned it properly, and it certainly caused the wounds in his wife's scalp. In short, all the evidence was there. I was going off, feeling fully satisfied although it was a beastly show and I've never liked that kind of case. Then—”

He paused.

Mark no longer acted the fool, but eyed his friend intently. The voices came from the other room in a steady ripple.

“A taxi drew up outside,” Roger said. “Oliphant came out. Oliphant,” he repeated, softly, “saying that he had been asked to act for Benny Cox.” He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. He saw the portly solicitor, Mortimer Oliphant, a well-known lawyer who frequently acted for poorer criminals. He was ambitious and took on difficult jobs which a less forceful solicitor would have refused. He worked for the
Poor Person's Legal Society
and was one of its brighter members. Penniless or briefless barristers often accepted bad cases when the defendants could not afford legal aid, and the court paid them. Some solicitors set aside a special section of their business to handle such cases, but for the most part it was a question of fighting for a lost cause. It was rare that a defendant who had to be granted legal aid had anything of a case, seldom that he got off – not because he was not well defended, but because he was so obviously guilty.

Mortimer Oliphant was in a different category from the usual poor man's lawyer.

He had a man at the courts regularly, watching, and when a case appeared particularly tricky, or when there seemed to be the slightest chance of pulling off an odds-against case, he would volunteer to take it. He briefed young barristers who usually did well. His reputation was excellent and he often managed to win a case which the police thought was a foregone conclusion. A man of middle age, he had a large private income, and he always claimed that he specialised in criminal cases because he liked the excitement of matching his wits against the police. Roger knew him well.

He remembered the smile on Oliphant's open face when he had squeezed along the narrow passage and seen Roger in the kitchen. He had pulled a wry face and said that he hoped it wasn't necessary to stay in that atmosphere for long. Roger had not thought twice about his appearance, for he had guessed why he had come.

“I'm going to look after Benny Cox,” Oliphant had said.

Roger remembered smiling. “You've backed a loser this time!”

“Oh, I don't know,” Oliphant had said, “anyhow, it will give me some mental exercise, West. I always enjoy a few rounds with you. You don't mind if I look round?”

Roger remembered admiring the man's thoroughness. Few solicitors would have taken the trouble to come to the scene of the crime. He had thought nothing of it even when he had read through his report for the day –
‘Oliphant saw me at New Street, and said that he was going to handle Cox's defence.'
He had not troubled to go over it again, because it was characteristic of Oliphant. Also, he came to the Yard more often and asked for the information. Being a likeable fellow, one somehow always gave him what he wanted, within the necessary limits laid down by common sense and regulations. If he didn't get all he wanted, he took no umbrage.

Well-dressed, dark, with a good, olive complexion and smiling eyes, he was always amiable and even placid, but with a quick mind and a ready wit. Every man at Scotland Yard knew and trusted him.

“Oliphant,” said Mark, quietly. “Didn't you say that he handled Cox's defence?”

Janet answered for Roger. “Yes.”

“You think—” Mark began, but then his voice trailed off.

“I
can't
think of anything else which might have made Malone and his leaders fear that I might have seen what was happening,” Roger said. “He doesn't often visit the scene of the crime – he usually gets to the case when it's too late – but he was very quick this time. Supposing he was briefed by Malone or whoever Malone is working for? Supposing he realised afterwards that his eagerness might have been suspect? He would tell his client, of course. The client is superstitious. It happened on the 13th – ‘one of these days West is bound to see something funny in it, we'll have to make sure that he can't do any harm'. It would answer nearly everything,” Roger said.

“Would Oliphant”—Mark paused, for he knew the solicitor well and found the suspicions hard to believe—”let anyone go for you, Roger?”

“He might,” said Roger. “He might even have thought that I was keeping something up my sleeve – I was feeling in a good mood that morning and I put in one or two cryptic statements, the kind of hot air that bubbles out when everything has gone well. Oliphant might have misread my attitude. He might have discussed it with his client. You know, Mark, the framing was clever. Not too obvious, just enough to make reasonably sure that Chatworth would have to take notice of it. Whoever planned it knew Leech's reputation with us. Malone might have known everything else, but he couldn't have known that we relied so much on Leech. Oliphant would. I wonder”—he stood up slowly—”I wonder who the legal adviser to the Society of European Relief is? Mark, telephone Mrs. Cartier and ask her, will you? I—no, that would be asking for trouble. She might not be quite so honest as she's made out, in spite of Malone's visit. We'd better phone the Yard.”

“I'll do it,” said Mark, promptly.

When he left the room Roger and Janet eyed each other very thoughtfully, Janet with a hopeful gleam in her eyes, Roger still deep in the problem. Oliphant loomed so much in his mind that he did not notice the louder note of Tennant's voice in the next room.

The door opened and Tennant strode out, beaming, holding Lois by the hand – and Lois seemed much more at peace.

“It's all right!” declared Tennant, triumphantly.

“What's all right?” asked Roger, startled.

“I've fixed it – I mean, we've fixed it,” said Tennant, squeezing Lois's waist. “She's told me everything, West, everything. There's no need for you to question her again, I've got it all written down. You want the names of the people she went to see, don't you?”

“I do,” said Roger, at last forcing himself to think of something and someone other than Oliphant.

“I knew you would,” said Tennant, “and she's remembered a dozen – they're all on the list,
and
the gist of what she told you.” He put a small note-book in front of Roger, and beamed widely. “All written in ink and Lois has signed it. But,” he added with a quick frown, “you've got to keep your side of the bargain. I don't know much about the law but I do know there's such a thing as King's Evidence. If this isn't King's Evidence, I don't know what is!”

Roger smiled. “Yes, you're right.” He looked at Lois reassuringly. “Don't worry about it, Lois, it will all work out well for you. We're far more interested in finding these people and getting at their crimes than we are in punishing a girl for a momentary temptation.” He wondered if it were wise to deal with that quite so lightly and decided that it would do more good than harm; no one could have repented a crime more than this girl.

She looked more rested, tired but with a settled expression in her eyes.

Before he looked at the list, Roger said: “There's just one thing. While Malone is free—”

“I've talked to her about that,” Tennant said: “this afternoon you said the safest place for her would be a police cell, didn't you? Confound it, Malone can't get into one of those! Well,” he looked brightly into Roger's eyes, “Lois agrees!”

Lois nodded.

“Good girl!” said Roger, warmly.

He did not know how Tennant had contrived it but he had made the girl feel that it was wise and safe to trust the police. She did not protest, nor did she try to stipulate any conditions.

Before going to Mark, who was still on the phone to the Yard, and taking over from him, he ran his eye down the list of names and addresses which Lois had dictated to Tennant, thinking that it would probably be enough to break the case wide open. The last entry but one made him start and look up eagerly into her eyes.

“Oliphant – Mortimer Oliphant, at Cheyne Walk, Chelsea?”

“Yes,” said Lois, quietly.

“Did you go there often?”

“We-ell – half a dozen times,” said Lois, “and sometimes he came to the office, he was the Society's legal adviser. Pickerell always saw him alone.” She hesitated. “I rather liked him, he was always very friendly.”

“Oh, yes, he would be,” Roger said, “he would be very friendly indeed! Lois, you've done marvels!”

Mark came back as he spoke, like a man with good tidings, but suddenly deflated when he learned that Lois had already given the information. It was not a case, Mark said much later, in which he had the best of luck. He heard of the other arrangements and shot a glance of congratulation at the triumphant Tennant, who seemed to see nothing ironic in the fact that he had succeeded in persuading Lois to find safety in a police cell.

Roger felt on edge, in spite of the way the case was shaping. He wanted to see Oliphant, to report his discoveries, to make sure that Lois
was
safe. Vaguely, he realised that few men had made such an impression on him as Malone. He did not feel sure that the short journey to the Yard could be negotiated safely and he went out, to see Pep Morgan's men and the two police who were watching the hotel. They assured him that nothing suspicious had happened. He sent one of the police to the Yard to get a car, not taking the chance of getting a hired taxi that was employed by Malone. He laughed at his fears and yet remained on edge while he sat at the back of the car with Lois.

The policeman drove.

Tennant had been persuaded, with some difficulty, to stay behind. Mark had accepted the inevitable with commendable fortitude, but Janet would have her hands full with the two impatient men – she had been much more herself.

The girl was very quiet. She did not seem to share any of his alarm.

As they turned into Parliament Square, he said: “We won't be long, now.”

Lois spoke quietly.

“Mr. West, I—” she paused.

“Yes?” said Roger.

“I—ought to thank you. Those tablets—”

“Forget them,” Roger said. “I have.” As he spoke he realised what a fool he was, how the spectre of Malone and the dazzling prospect of outwitting Oliphant had driven other, more practical, thought from his mind. “That is, I'd forgotten you were going to take them,” he amended hastily. “Where did you get them from, Lois?”

“Pickerell,” she said, quietly.

“You know what's in them?”

“Yes,” she said, “they're cyanic acid.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “My oath, that's doing it properly! Did he tell you what was in them?”

“No,” said Lois, “I took some from a bottle on his desk. He always had them by him. I've heard him say that he would rather die than be caught. I—I felt the same, so I took them. I don't think he missed them.”

“How did you know what was in them?” Roger asked.