A Murder is Arranged (14 page)

Richardson laid down the report with a quiet smile flickering on his lips as he realised that Inspector Dallas had caught something of the dramatic fervour of his French colleagues in presenting his report, which was more picturesque than the usual formal report of a detective inspector. He rang the bell and sent a message to Superintendent Lawrence to come to him.

W
HEN
L
AWRENCE
presented himself Richardson put a simple question to him.

“Have you any further news of that Austin Twelve car that was taken over to France?”

“Yes sir; unfortunately our port officer in Dieppe did not get the order in time to stop the car, but he reports that the car left Dieppe with the avowed destination of the Riviera: this information was obtained in the ordinary way when an English car crosses the Channel. I was going to ask you whether we should get Inspector Dallas to drop what he is doing and follow up the movements of that car.”

“No, you mustn't do that. Inspector Dallas cannot afford to spare a moment from his present case. We shall have to track that car in another way. Of course you've got the owner's name?”

“No sir; nothing was said about the name in the first telegram, but I wired for it and the reply is due at any moment.”

“Well, let me have it as soon as it comes in. In the meantime, have you formed any opinion about the coincidence of the two car numbers being identical?”

“Well, sir, I should say that it was done deliberately, although we have verified the fact that Mr Oborn at Scudamore Hall did really register his car under that number.”

“Well, couldn't Oborn be quite innocent in the matter? Couldn't the other man have taken the number without his knowledge?”

“Of course that's possible, sir, but it would mean forgery in the necessary papers and personally, I don't see how he could do it without Oborn's knowledge and help.”

“It seems a very foolish thing to do unless the motive was overwhelmingly strong.”

“Quite so, sir, but no doubt the motive was a very strong one—to hoodwink the police. Suppose, for instance, one or both of the cars had been employed in robbery or burglary.”

“Well, one thing stands out: Oborn at Scudamore Hall must not be allowed to leave the country. You will see to putting up the gate against him at the ports.”

“Very good, sir. That shall be done as it was in the case of Huskisson.” He glanced at the clock. “That telegram should have arrived, sir. If you'll allow me I'll go and see where it is.”

In three minutes he was back with an air of suppressed excitement about him. He had an open telegram in his hand. Richardson took it from him and read, “Name of owner of car James Oborn.”

“So you see, sir, there are two Oborns.”

“Yes, that bears out the evidence sent by Dallas from Paris that a James Oborn took out an identity card in that name. We must find out how these two men are related: brothers, probably. And yet Oborn said nothing about a brother when told by Mr Forge that Margaret Gask was expecting to see Jim Oborn.”

Lawrence pursed his lips. “I think it would be a waste of time to question the man staying at Scudamore Hall: he would have a lie ready to suit his case. He appears to be a clever scoundrel and an educated man. Perhaps, sir, if you could arrange to get him down here and let us go through him we might succeed in tipping him off his perch.”

“They might be able to trace the birth at Somerset House; you have his approximate age.”

“Very good, sir; that shall be done and we won't send for Oborn until we've got our information.”

“Owing to the accident in which that twelve-horse power Austin was involved in Kingston, we know that both James Oborn and Douglas Oborn were in England at the time of the murder of Miss Gask.”

“And James has now escaped from our jurisdiction by going to France.”

Richardson remained silent: he was thinking. “As we have Dallas on the spot in Paris,” he said, “and this new information of the name of the man who has taken that car over seems to point to a connection with his present case, I think that he is the man for the enquiry. I'll dictate instructions for him while you are enquiring at Somerset House. As you go out you might send in young Williams. He's the quickest of your shorthand writers in Central.”

“Very good, sir.”

It was an hour later when Lawrence returned from Somerset House with the information about the brothers Oborn.

“I have been quite successful, sir,” he said. “James and Douglas Oborn are brothers. The father was Walter Oborn, a solicitor in Salisbury; James is the elder son and was born two years before Douglas; there is a third son named Charles. I have telephoned to the Salisbury police, who tell me that the father died only three years ago; he never had a large practice, but he was above suspicion. Such practice as he had has been taken over by the third son, Charles, whose reputation is as unblemished as his father's. The Salisbury police have promised to make discreet enquiries about the other two brothers and will furnish us with a confidential report about them.”

“You have ascertained that there is no criminal record against James Oborn?”

“Yes sir. Apparently they have never been detected in any illegality and that is why they still use their own name.”

“You need do nothing more about Douglas Oborn. I will send him an invitation to call upon me: that will bring him unless I'm much mistaken in the gentleman.”

“Very good, sir.”

During the afternoon Richardson's messenger brought him a visiting card. “The gentleman is in the waiting room,” he said.

Richardson glanced at the card and nodded.

“Show him in.” The name on the card was Mr Douglas Oborn.

“Sit down, Mr Oborn. I've invited you to come down here in order to save our people a number of tiresome enquiries. I feel sure that you will do your best to help us.”

If this opening to the conversation was disquieting to the visitor he did not show it. He sat down with an easy smile, saying, “Certainly; ask me as many questions as you like.”

“Is your brother James in England at this moment?”

“Ah! That is one of the questions that I should find difficult to answer. I have not corresponded with him for some time, nor have I made it my business to keep in touch with him.”

“When did you last hear of him?”

Oh, I should think it must be fully three years ago.”

“And he was then…?”

“We met at my father's funeral at Salisbury and I remember that we lunched with another brother after the funeral.”

“What is your profession, Mr Oborn?”

“Technically I suppose I might describe myself as a barrister of the Inner Temple; that is to say, I have been ‘called.'”

“But you do not practise?”

His visitor laughed lightly. “No, I do not practise, because such solicitors as I know well have their own counsel, but if work were to come my way I should jump at it.”

“You have chambers in the Temple?”

“Yes, in Fountain Court; you'll find my name painted up in number five and I have the honour of being allowed this privilege by the man who rents the chambers.”

“I see; so you remain a practising barrister without any practice?”

“If you like to put it that way. I have on occasion done a little devilling for the man who gives me a seat in his chambers.”

“That is the extent of your legal practice?”

“Yes, but you'll find my name in the law list if you care to look for it.”

“You spend a good deal of your time abroad, I believe.”

“Quite true. As you seem to take so much interest in my affairs, I may as well tell you that a few years ago I inherited a little money which has made me lazy.”

“And your brother James—what is his profession?”

“You seem to be very much interested in the family, but, after all, we've nothing to hide. My brother James was to have entered the priesthood—my mother, as you may know, was a Roman Catholic. He found that he had no vocation for the calling and while he was making up his mind what he should do he, like myself, inherited enough money to make him lazy.”

“And, like yourself, he spends a good deal of his time abroad?”

“He does.”

“You have another point in common, I think. You both carry the same registration number on your respective cars.”

“There you are better informed than I am. I know nothing about the registration of my brother's car: my own registration is perfectly in order.”

“Well, it may interest you to know that your brother's car is in France at this moment and while we're waiting for it to return I must ask you not to move yours from Mr Forge's garage without notifying the police.”

“I'm hoping to enjoy Mr Forge's hospitality for myself and my car for some days yet.”

“When Mr Forge was so mystified at Miss Gask's reference to a ‘Jim Oborn' why didn't you tell him that the Jim Oborn she knew was probably your brother?”

“I didn't think it mattered. My brother's friends are not necessarily my friends—especially his lady friends.” There was a hint of disparagement towards the dead woman in his tone.

“Thank you, Mr Oborn. What you tell me is quite satisfactory and I need not detain you longer.”

As the visitor opened the door into the passage he almost collided with Lawrence. He apologised, but Lawrence stood for a moment watching him before closing the door behind him.

“I see that you're interested in my visitor, Mr Lawrence,” said Richardson.

“I am, sir. Was that Mr Douglas Oborn?”

“That was the name on his card; you see he accepted my invitation to an interview as I thought he would.”

“Did you get anything useful out of him, sir?”

“He was so frank in his answers to my questions that I'm beginning to think that there must be something he was anxious to conceal. As we already know, his car registration papers are quite in order and we can do nothing more until we get hold of the brother, whose papers must be the forged ones: we shall then be in a position to judge whether the forgery was done with or without the knowledge of Douglas. I've sent the instructions to Dallas and told him that if he wants help you will send someone over; it's obvious that he can't leave France just yet.”

“No sir; that's quite obvious. If, as Monsieur Goron surmises, the murderer of Miss Gask also killed the French senator, he and Dallas working together may hit upon the solution at any moment.”

“The murderer need not necessarily be Huskisson. Monsieur Goron seems very prone to jump to dramatic conclusions.”

“I suppose you won't send for Huskisson yourself, sir, and put him through the hoop?”

“Not yet; that may come later. Have you received any report from Spofforth showing the impression that all these people have left upon him?”

“Not since the first one, sir; but he's been on to me by telephone this morning. He is suspicious of the butler. He may be prejudiced because the man is an ex-convict and therefore his suspicion of him doesn't carry much weight.”

“What ground has he for suspecting him?”

“The chief ground is that he insists upon taking all letters from the postman with his own hand and on no account allows Spofforth, who as under butler might be given the task, to arrange them on the slab in the hall.”

“I suppose that Spofforth has noticed this because as a detective he would like to look at the letters himself.”

“Exactly, sir; and the butler is very clever in preventing Spofforth from examining the letters when they are on the slab. This is particularly awkward for us just now, when we are anxious to keep an eye upon Oborn's correspondence: any French postmark might prove useful. Spofforth also told me during our telephone conversation that Oborn and Huskisson seem to be suspicious of each other, and both of them carry their own letters to the post: there is a pillar box at the gate. Spofforth, seeing them going out with letters in their hands, has offered more than once to take them to the box but has always been rather abruptly refused.”

“Well, if those two men are beginning to suspect one another we honest detectives may come into our own.”

T
O THE LEAST
acute observer the atmosphere at Scudamore Hall was becoming surcharged with suspicion and discomfort; more than ever was its proprietor disposed to seize upon an excuse for shutting the place up and becoming again a homeless wanderer in foreign hotels on the Continent. He was restrained by the knowledge that both his guests, Huskisson and Douglas Oborn, were debarred from leaving the country and the ban, he felt, was probably extended to him. It revolted him to think of the scene at the docks when a tall polite gentleman would be called up by the embarkation officer and after a whispered conversation would accost him and intimate that he would not be allowed to embark without authority from some mysterious powers in London. He knew too well that bluster would accomplish nothing; that threats to appeal to the home secretary or any other great power would courteously be waved aside, but that if he made any attempt upon the steamer's gangway a muscular arm would be put out to stop him with the intimation that he was blocking the gangway to the discomfort of the other passengers: he had seen all this happen to a vociferous person who, the rumour spread among the other passengers, was a noted criminal endeavouring to escape from justice. That was not the kind of ordeal that Walter Forge would care to undergo.

At this point in his reflections his ire rose against Spofforth. What the devil was the use of the man if he kicked his heels below stairs hunting for clues for days without finding out anything? Surely by this time he should either have cleared everyone of suspicion or have laid his hand upon the guilty person. In such crime romances as he had read the super-sleuth had only to gain access to the premises to lay his hand upon the shoulder of the culprit. Spofforth was not playing the game according to the rules. Besides, this Spofforth was producing tension between himself and his guests. Since they had discovered Spofforth's real vocation Oborn scarcely ever failed to refer to him humorously as the “tame sleuth”, while Huskisson had withdrawn himself into a dense thicket of reserve.