The Dartmoor Enigma (24 page)

“It was one of the guesses that one has to make on this job. I'll let you into a secret. If you feel sure that something must have been done, don't ask the witness whether it was done because he or she will say no; speak of it as something that you both know was done and in nine cases out of ten they won't risk lying about it.”

“What I can't understand is why Sutcliffe didn't make a better fight at his trial. The truth would have come out.”

“Well, you see, he blamed Frank Willis for the whole affair, and didn't want to give him away because of the sister. Instone was cunning enough to use the fraudulent gold mine to hide his own robberies.”

T
HEY HAD TIME
for sandwiches at the station before taking the next train to London.

“We shall get in pretty late, or in the early hours of the morning,” said Richardson; “but that will be better than kicking our heels in Clifton when we might doss down in London and start work again to-morrow morning.”

“What are we going to do in town?”

“Go out to Bromley and make that alibi for Sutcliffe for the 29th September watertight. At present it rests only on the word of Sutcliffe and his young woman, and whatever we may think about it, it won't be good enough for Mr. Morden. Also I want to redeem my promise to Sutcliffe to let him know who the man who called himself Charles Dearborn really was.”

“Won't he fly up in the air!” said Jago.

“No; I think you'll find that he'll be stunned, poor devil. He's a standing example of the misery that a man makes for himself when he adopts the wrong profession. If you'd joined the Church, Jago, do you feel that you would have risen to be Archbishop of Canterbury?”

“I don't,” laughed Jago; “but I wouldn't answer for you.”

The following morning found them again in the garage at Bromley.

Peter Sutcliffe crawled out from under a car with his face streaked with oil. “Oh, so you're back at last; this has been the longest two days that I ever remember.”

“I've news for you,” said Richardson; “those letters you lent me and the photograph have been useful. We now know the identity of the man who was killed on Dartmoor. He was your clerk, Charles Instone.”

“Good Lord! But I thought you said that he had money.”

“So he had, but it was your money—money stolen from your account.”

“My God! What a fool I was to trust him. But I can't think how he did it.”

“It seems to have been easy enough. You didn't check your pass-book, and I suppose you signed cheques blind without noticing whom they were in favour of.”

“I'm afraid sometimes I signed them blank.”

“Well, then, can you wonder that a man not naturally honest should have taken advantage of your carelessness about money?”

“But he had been trained under my father. I left all the investment business to him. He knew more about it than I did.”

“Naturally, but if it will relieve your mind at all I may tell you that his dishonesty over money seems to have begun only about a year before the crash. In that year he managed to embezzle twenty-five thousand pounds of your and your clients' money.”

“I can't think how he expected to get away with it.”

“I think he felt that it was time for him to bolt, and that was why he was cunning enough to get a woman investor to lodge a complaint to the police that the gold mine you were interested in was a dud one. He trusted that an investigation would be set on foot and that in the confusion that resulted he would be able to slip quietly away with all the stolen money in Bank of England notes of large denominations. And that was precisely what happened. I have with me a copy of a letter he wrote to one of the investors while he was still in your employ. You have it, Sergeant Jago. Thank you. Now, Mr. Sutcliffe, read that.”

“My God! Uriah Heap wasn't in it with this blighter. I deserved all I got for trusting him.”

“And now, one thing more. I want you to drive me out to the man whose car you drove home on the 29th of September last.”

Sutcliffe laughed bitterly. “I see that you won't trust my alibi on that date without a supporting witness.”

“You are quite wrong. Personally I trust your word entirely. But I have to satisfy my superiors.”

“Quite right. Let us start at once.”

He started up one of the cars belonging to the garage and invited Richardson to the seat beside him, while Jago entered the tonneau. They turned into the main road and drove nearly the length of the town before swinging into a side street and pulling up at a tailor's shop.

“You had better get down and make your own inquiry. I'll stop in the car.”

The tailor—a youngish man of about thirty—bustled out to welcome a visitor whom he took to be a new customer.

“No,” said Richardson; “I'm not a customer. I've called only to ask you on what date you brought your car home from the garage after it had been repaired. I think that a garage hand took you for a run in it before handing it over.”

“That's right, but I shall have to look up the date in my day-book.” He reached to a shelf for the book in question. “Here it is. I see that the date was September 29.”

“Thank you, sir. May I have one of your business cards giving your name and address?”

“Certainly. I don't ask you the reason for your inquiry. I suppose you are thinking of calling me as a witness in some case or other. I hope you'll remember that my time is valuable.”

“I will,” said Richardson; “but I don't think we shall have to trouble you. Good morning.”

“Well,” said Sutcliffe, as Richardson resumed his seat beside him. “I hope that my alibi is now watertight.”

“Quite.”

“Good; then let me tell you of a curious thing that happened this morning. I have had a letter from Borneo asking me whether I still desire my name to appear as one of the directors of the Sulanka Gold Mining Company, and with it was a private letter from the secretary telling me that since the additional capital subscribed by Mr. Viner, the American capitalist, had been invested and shares had been allotted to him, the company was undergoing re-construction. The letter goes on—let me read it to you.” He took a letter from his pocket and read, “‘The capital subscribed by Mr. Frank Willis and yourself still ranks for dividend, but the directors feel that the board should be composed principally of directors residing in Borneo. As you know, the value of metallic gold is now very high and the new borings through the rock have established the fact that the ore lies in a seam easy of access, and so far without a limit. It is therefore very valuable property.'”

“Then all your good luck is coming together, sir.”

“Well, there is a postscript. ‘Our sub-manager has left for England and will see you during his stay there. The Board feels that as one of the pioneers who first brought this property to public notice, you deserve generous treatment.'”

“I suppose you'll go out there, sir?” said Richardson.

“I'm trying to make up my mind about that. I must let you into a family secret. I'm engaged to be married.”

“I congratulate you, sir. Miss Willis is a charming girl.”

“Oh! So you knew that already. Is there anything that you people at the Yard don't know?”

“How was this letter addressed to you, sir?”

“It was addressed care of Miss Willis in Brondesbury Road, which means that her brother Frank was out there at the time. What I can't understand is why Frank hasn't written.”

“You don't think that he's the sub-manager who's on his way over to see you?” asked Richardson.

“In that case he ought to have been here by now. He started before this letter was written. It's very mysterious. The question I want to ask you is what I ought to do about that stolen money, some of which belongs to my former clients and the rest is mine. Didn't you tell me that ‘Charles Dearborn,' so-called, left a widow?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don't want that poor woman to suffer.”

“I think you would be wise, sir, in doing nothing for the moment. Leave the case in my hands and I'll put it before my chiefs at the Yard and get their advice upon it. At this moment we don't know who the man was who stopped Instone's car and attacked him. Until we do, it is going to be very difficult to clear up the case. The person I've been trying to get hold of is your former office boy—John Reddy. I've advertised for him to come forward without getting any reply. All we know of him is that he came down to Winterton on the day after Instone's death, and that as soon as he heard Instone was dead he went off back to the station. We also know that when hiking over Dartmoor he recognized Instone and told the hotel-keeper who he was, but since that time he has clean disappeared.”

“Suppose I were to advertise, saying that his former employer in Bristol would like to see him, and I give the address of the newspaper? Surely that would bring a reply.”

“I wish you would try that.”

They had reached the garage. Sutcliffe stowed away the car and went off to wash his hands while the two officers waited for him. When he came back Richardson drafted the advertisement and took it away to the post office. It was to have three insertions in all the leading morning and evening papers. Sutcliffe ran after him to ask where a telegram would find him if the young man turned up, and was told that a telegram addressed to Scotland Yard would always be forwarded to him.

Then, after arranging matters with an advertisement contractor, the two officers betook themselves to the Central C.I.D. office, and Richardson asked Superintendent Witchard to arrange an interview for him with Mr. Morden.

“Look here, young man,” said the Superintendent, “you've been running up a pretty bill for expenses. You seem to have been joy-riding all over the country. When are you going to finish the case?”

“I'll shut it down whenever you give me the word. One can't get to the bottom of a complicated case like this without testing every bit of evidence, and that means running about to interview possible witnesses. This is a far more complicated case than even that garage murder in Southampton. Why not come in with me to see Mr. Morden and save me telling the story twice over?”

“Very well, I will, but I warn you that you'll have to submit to some questioning.”

The Superintendent led the way to Morden's room and took him in.

“Well, Mr. Richardson, we have been expecting to hear from you. How are you getting on?”

“I thought it would be more satisfactory if I came to report progress in person. The main fact that can be proved in evidence is the identity of the murdered man.”

“If he was murdered,” interjected the Superintendent.

“I have found two eye-witnesses of the murder, sir,” said Richardson. “This man who called himself Charles Dearborn was in reality a solicitor's clerk from Bristol named Charles Instone, who stole twenty-five thousand pounds from his employer and his employer's clients, changed his name to Dearborn and ran away to Plymouth three years ago, and banked the money on the pretence that it was the proceeds of a sale of house property in London. He bought the house in which he was living at Winterton and advertised for a housekeeper; he engaged one whom he afterwards married under the name of Dearborn. All this can be proved by witnesses.”

“How could he steal that huge sum without the knowledge of his employer?”

“I was coming to that, sir. His employer was quite unfit for his profession as a solicitor, neglected his business and spent a great part of his time playing golf. He had inherited the business from his father, who had had quite a prosperous practice. Many of his father's clients stuck to him and would have continued to do so. The crash came when he induced a number of them to invest their capital in a gold mine in Borneo. His clerk, this man Instone, wrote a disloyal letter to a lady who had invested a large sum in the mine and incited her to complain to the Bristol police that she had been induced to invest in a non-existing mine. Inquiries were instituted; it was found that the solicitor had no assets, Instone having stolen them all, and the solicitor, a man of the name of Peter Sutcliffe, was indicted on a charge of malversation of funds entrusted to him. Even then he behaved like a fool. He elected to conduct his own defence, which he did very badly; he was sentenced to four years' penal servitude and struck off the rolls. All this also can be proved. I have a copy of the letter written by Instone to the lady who brought about the indictment of Sutcliffe and the original can be produced.”

“Very good. This Instone seems to have been a clever rascal.”

“He was, sir. Though he had £25,000 in his pocket, he went about for a week or so after the trial asking for work as if he was a pauper.”

“Well, you seem to have cleared up the identity of the murdered man, but not that of his murderer.”

“Not yet, sir, but if I am given time I think I shall be able to do that too.”

“Have you covered all the people who might have had a motive for killing the man? That solicitor Sutcliffe, for instance? He must be out of prison by this time.”

“He was out of prison on September 29—the day of the murder—but he has a watertight alibi which I have tested.”

“Had anyone else a motive for waylaying Instone's car and bashing him on the head?”

“I know of one man, sir, but he seems to be out of the country. The person I am trying to get hold of is Sutcliffe's office boy, John Reddy, who would be a very valuable witness if he could be found. I have advertised for him but without effect. I have to-day got his former employer, to whom he seems to have been attached, to advertise for him—three insertions in all the leading newspapers. That may produce something.”

“Have you warned the Special Branch officers at the ports, giving a description of the suspect and of this boy, John Reddy, asking them to detain both the suspect and the boy and send them up here?”