did Mr Cane come here yesterday?’ the detective asked.
‘About six o’clock, sir. He caught the seven train.’
‘Had he ever been here before?’
‘No; I never saw him before. He came straight to this place, and went direct from it.’
‘He did not ask you about the landing ground, or look at it, eh?’
‘It was dark when he came. He didn’t ask.’
Devenish thanked him, and went away to the manor. There he was admitted by an elderly butler, a man Mander had enticed from Lord Valley’s service, and was assured that Webley was right. Mr Mander had not been there on the Sunday.
The butler had heard of the murder. Mr Kephim had rung him up (at this news the detective frowned). Mr Mander had been a generous master, and all the staff were greatly worried about the tragedy. Mr Kephim had said he would come down to settle what should be done about closing the Manor, but they had heard nothing since.
Devenish heard in addition that Mr Mander had not stayed a night in the house for the last month.
‘Did any of you hear the aeroplane go up on Sunday?’ he asked. The butler shook his head.
‘We’d have heard it if it had.’
Devenish nodded. ‘Right. Now, may I ask if Mr Mander has made any friends down here?’
‘Not yet, sir. The county people are, as you may say, stand-off,’ replied the man. ‘More than in most places I should say.’
‘So Mr Mander did not entertain?’
‘Not here, sir, though he may have done so in his flat in town.’
‘He never brought anyone here from town then?’
‘Not to stay, sir. None at all, unless you count the young lady came here with him once about five weeks ago.’
Devenish started. ‘Was she anything like this?’ he asked, and described the dead woman as well as he could.
The butler bit his lip. He was obviously wondering if he ought to disclose anything about his master’s guests. ‘That might not be unlike the lady, sir. Of course I did not look at her closely.’
‘Did she lunch or dine here?’
‘No, sir. She just came down in the car he keeps in town. He was in the car too. He showed her the gardens, and the house a little, and then drove off again.’
‘Did he say where?’
‘No, sir. He never told me.’
‘I can get that from his driver in town,’ Devenish said to himself, as he left the house, and started for the station.
DEVENISH had a hasty meal in a café when he returned to town, then went off to Gandy Mews to see the man who had been Tobias Mander’s London chauffeur.
Robinson had been hanging about home all day, expecting a visit from the police, and he had made his mind up to take himself and his wife to the cinema, when Devenish suddenly descended on him.
He was a sleek, meek-looking fellow, and the first of Mander’s servants who was not openly much touched by his master’s death. It had startled without shocking him very much, and he was quite composed when he replied to the inspector’s questions.
Yes, he said, he had called several times at the block of flats where Miss Tumour lived. He did not understand why the guv’nor went there, but understood that Mr Mander was in the habit of having business inspirations during his leisure hours, and might then want to consult the head of this or that department. He said this with the air of a man who does not believe what he is saying but obediently presents the excuse his master has given him.
‘Where did you drive them?’ asked Devenish, noting all this.
‘Sometimes up the river, sir, and sometimes to a hotel restaurant.’
‘Surely that would have been commented on by the paid gossips in the papers?’
Robinson shook his head. ‘We always went to the Sangrado Hotel, sir.’
Devenish knew of it; a small hotel where the cooking was very good. But it had not been taken up by the Bohemians in society, and it was quite possible that Mander had not been noticed there.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now we’ll take yesterday. Mr Kephim was under the impression that Mr Mander had been at Gelover Manor.’
‘He was going, sir,’ replied the chauffeur, ‘but he got a telephone message, and I drove him to Parston Court. We were there till the evening.’
The inspector nodded. Parston Court was Mrs Peden-Hythe’s country place, where her son, Jameson, lived most of the year.
‘Was Mrs Peden-Hythe at home?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir; it was her the guv’nor went to see.’
‘Was Mr Jameson Peden-Hythe there too?’
Robinson’s face underwent a slight change. It expressed at once a general knowledge of the relations between the Peden-Hythes, mother and son, and Mr Tobias Mander.
‘He bolted off as soon as we came, sir.’
Devenish looked at him reflectively. ‘You mean to say that Mr Jameson, the son, was not very friendly with your master?’
‘If looks are anything to go by, he couldn’t abear him,’ replied the chauffeur. Not that he’s any great shakes himself, I should say. Looks as if he couldn’t get very far away from a bottle if he tried.’
When Devenish left the mews it seemed to him that Mr Mander’s movements on the Sunday had been less mysterious than they had seemed at first. What more natural than that the woman behind the business should wish to see the man she was financing? He returned at once to Scotland Yard, to report to Mr Melis. But Mr Melis had left a note saying that he was going out of town.
Devenish determined to do another job before he wound up for the night. He had a hasty talk with two or three of his subordinates, and then learned that the Mauser automatic pistol found in the ballroom at the Stores had been taken from the sports department.
‘Then you had better go round at once, and impound all the rifles they have of a similar bore. .303 high-velocity ammunition was used, I believe.’
It was now nine o’clock, but he set out to see Mrs Hoe in Bester Street. But first he took the precaution of ringing up and making sure that she would be at home. She expressed her horror at the tragedy, felt quite stunned by it, she said, and was ready to answer any question.
The Bester Street address turned out to be another flat, a very small but cosy one this time, and Mrs Hoe a woman journalist. After a short talk, Devenish discovered that she was one of the paid propagandists of the Stores, and had met Miss Tumour in that way, and taken a liking to her.
Devenish studied the pretty face of the little woman opposite to him with appreciation. She spoke clearly, explained lucidly, and was very intelligent. It struck him that she was a woman whom it would be hard to impose on.
‘Now, Mrs Hoe,’ he said presently. ‘You and I know enough of the world to understand that the character of the person murdered often gives as clear a clue to the tragedy as that of the murderer. I know you were a friend of the dead woman. Could you throw any light on the situation from that angle? What sort of woman was she?’
Mrs Hoe screwed up her eyes a little. ‘She was charming, and a great pal. But I don’t think she was very warm-hearted really, and I feel sure she would be ready to sell nothing for something. I know that sounds catty, but it isn’t. She was born so. I didn’t like her less for guessing the truth about her.’
‘You