Ask a Policeman Page 6

  “A purely personal matter, you say? Am I to understand that you and Comstock were on cordial terms? This seems very curious for a man in your position.”

  Again that queer look came into the Chief Whip’s eyes. “The terms we were on were anything but cordial,” he replied. “In fact—” But he checked himself hurriedly.

  “Yet you took the trouble to go to Hursley Lodge to see him,” persisted Sir Philip. “Had you a previous appointment?”

  The Chief Whip shook his head violently. “Most certainly not,” he replied. “I drove over merely on chance. I had something to say to Comstock which could only be mentioned at a personal interview. But, as I have said, I was unsuccessful. I had no opportunity for entering his presence.”

  “You were not able to penetrate into the study?”

  “I was not. Somebody else was in there all the time. I could hear Comstock’s voice talking angrily off and on all the time I was there.”

  “From what Mr. Mills has told us, you seem to have been rather restless during your visit. You asked him to convey a message to your chauffeur that you might be detained, I believe.”

  “To my chauffeur!” exclaimed Sir Charles. “Certainly not, I had no chauffeur with me. I was driving the car myself. I may have told the secretary—ah, yes, quite so, Mr. Mills—that I was going out to take a message to my car, when I happened to meet him in the hall.”

  “Somebody was waiting for you in the car, then?” asked Sir Philip quietly.

  Once more the Chief Whip grew very red. “Yes, a friend of mine,” he replied in a tone of forced unconcern.

  Sir Philip nodded. “Ah, I see. A lady, was it not?”

  The Chief Whip glanced swiftly round the room, as though trying to discover who could have revealed this fact. “Yes, it was a lady,” he replied slowly. “Since she was not in any way concerned with my visit to Hursley Lodge, there is no necessity to mention her name. I asked her to wait in the car while I went in to see Comstock, telling her I should not be longer than a few minutes. She knew nothing whatever of the matter which I wished to discuss with him.”

  “You left in a considerable hurry, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I had a luncheon appointment in town, and I had already waited so long—till past mid-day—that I was in danger of being late. Besides, my presence didn’t seem particularly welcome. I noticed that Mr. Mills seemed very anxious to get rid of me.”

  Sir Philip was about to reply, when for the second time the house telephone buzzed. With an impatient gesture he picked up the instrument. “What is it now, Anderson?” he asked. “Oh, is he? Very well, I’ll tell Hampton.” He turned to the Commissioner. “Littleton’s on the phone, asking to speak to you,” he said. “Better have a word with him in Anderson’s room.”

  The Commissioner fairly rushed to the door, and, once in the outer room, almost snatched the receiver from the private secretary’s hands. “Hullo!” he exclaimed. “Hullo! Damn it, we’ve been cut off! Yes, yes! Hampton speaking. Is that you, Littleton? Where are you? Where have you been all this time?”

  “I’m at Winborough.” Littleton’s voice replied. “I say, I’ve had a devil of a time You’ve heard by now that that swine Comstock’s been murdered, I suppose?”

  “Heard it! I’ve heard of nothing else for the last hour and a half. What I want to know is, how the devil you were mixed up in it. What in Heaven’s name took you to Hursley Lodge of all places this morning? Comstock’s secretary, Mills, has told us all about it.”

  “Has he? I shall want a few words with Mills when I see him. What did I go to Hursley Lodge for? Why, to see Comstock, of course. I had an idea that I could put a stop to that anti-police stunt of his. You’ve seen what his blessed rag says about the Little Cadbury case?”

  “Yes, yes,” replied the Commissioner impatiently. “Get on, man, I can’t stop talking to you here. We are holding a conference in the Home Secretary’s room.”

  “Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, I’ll give you the facts as briefly as I can. I knew of a way in which pressure could be brought upon Comstock. I happen to have come across a pretty sticky piece of work. There’s a woman in it, of course. You’ll hardly believe me when I tell you—”

  “Not on the telephone. Never mind about that. What happened when you got there?”

  “A devil of a lot happened. I drove up, and found that young chap Mills at the door. Can’t say that I was struck by the look of him. Wanted to keep me out, I fancy. But I soon put a stop to that nonsense. Told him that I meant to see Comstock, whatever he said. At last the fellow showed me into what looked like a drawing-room, and shut the door on me. And as soon as he’d gone, I heard voices from the next room. Comstock and somebody else having a devil of a row, I could tell that.

  “I looked about the room a bit, and found that there was a dummy panel, forming a door, which must lead into the room where Comstock was kicking up all the rumpus. I didn’t want to butt in, so I strolled across the room and looked out of the window on to a sort of lawn. There was nobody about outside as far as I could see but a gardener chap pottering about the flower beds.”

  “Did you see a car in the drive, besides the one you came in?” interrupted the Commissioner.

  “Hullo! What do you know about that car? No, I didn’t see it, that’s the queer thing. Next thing was, I heard people moving about in the hall, and after a bit everything became quiet in Comstock’s room. I waited for a bit, expecting that young chap Mills to come and show me in to see Comstock. But he didn’t come, and I got a bit impatient. I meant to see Comstock, whether he and his secretary liked it or not. So I just opened that concealed door and looked in. I tell you, Hampton, it takes a lot to surprise me. But when I looked into that room I got the shock of my life.”

  “What did you see?” the Commissioner asked coldly.

  “I saw Comstock lying in a heap in front of his desk with his chair on top of him. Of course, I went in then. Couldn’t very well do anything else. Didn’t take me long to see what had happened. Wound in the head, still bleeding. Chap dead all right, must have been killed instantaneously. And while I was looking at him, I heard a car drive off from somewhere in the drive. Fellow who killed Comstock, I concluded.”

  The Commissioner frowned. “Did you touch the body or anything in the room? “he asked.

  “Hardly. Besides, I hadn’t time. Just a chance I might catch that car, you see. I made for the open window, and jumped out. Lucky I didn’t break my neck. It was a lot farther to the ground than I had bargained for. Crocked one knee a bit, as it was. However, I managed to run to my car, and set off after the chap I’d heard.

  “Then a rotten thing happened. I swung out at the gate, going like hell, I’ll admit, and before I knew where I was I was into a constable riding a bicycle. The idiot was right over on the wrong side of his road, and I couldn’t help myself. ’Pon my word, Hampton, I didn’t know what to do. If I stopped to pick him up, I should lose all hope of catching the car I was after. But the fellow lay so darned still, with the bicycle twisted up like a Chinese puzzle, that I felt I couldn’t leave him there. So I stopped the car, got out, and had a look at him. And then I saw that he was pretty badly injured. Only thing to do was to take him to hospital.

  “I had noticed a hospital place on my way to Hursley Lodge. I picked the poor fellow up and hoisted him into the back of the car, and off I went. After all, Comstock was dead, and I couldn’t do any more for him. But I might save this chap’s life if I could get a doctor to him at once.”

  “A live dog being better than a dead lion,” remarked the Commissioner. “Get on, man.”

  “Well, my luck was dead out. I suppose it was a couple of miles or so to the hospital. And I was just about half way there when I ran out of petrol. There’ll be hell about that when I get back to the Yard. My orders are that my car is always to be filled up as soon as she’s brought in. Of course, I was carrying a spare can, and I tipped that in. But the blessed autovac didn’t seem to suck properly. I had to cra
nk up the engine for a devil of a time before I could get any petrol to the carburetter.”

  “Yes, yes; never mind these details. You were delayed. What then?”

  “I got the poor devil to hospital, but there seemed to be nobody there but a fool of a woman. Matron, I suppose. Regular cottage hospital, more cottage than hospital. Got the poor chap to bed. Rang up a doctor. Out. Rang up another. Out. Matron woman warned me that patient was in a very bad way. Getting desperate, when a doctor looked in. I was afraid the poor chap was done for this time, but after a good wait doctor came down and told me he had a fighting chance, lot of ribs done in, and heaven knows what else. And then I got him to have a look at my knee, which was devilish painful and so stiff I could hardly move it. Altogether, it was past a quarter to two before I got away from that infernal hospital.

  “It struck me then that I had never seen the number of the car I’d been chasing. I drove back to Hursley Lodge, thinking that someone about the place must have noticed it. But at first I couldn’t find anybody with any sense in their heads. There was a local sergeant in charge, chap like a bullock, with about as much intelligence. He told me that the local superintendent, Weston, or some such name, had been mucking about the place. Destroyed every vestige of a clue, I expect. You know what these local men are. And, if you please, he trotted all the likely witnesses up to town. Did you ever hear of such an ass?”

  “Superintendent Easton acted upon my instructions,” the Commissioner remarked acidly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know that. It looked to me as though the local people were blundering, as usual. So I thought I’d better do what I could to put things straight. I went round to the garage, and there I found Comstock’s chauffeur, a very decent, sensible chap by the name of Scotney.

  “He had seen the other car, all right. It had been standing in the drive for quite a long time. It’s difficult to explain, but the drive’s got a sort of kink in it. Goes round in a circle, with a clump of trees in the middle—”

  “Yes, I know all about that,” the Commissioner interrupted. “The trees were between you and the car, so that you couldn’t see it. What about this chauffeur?”

  “You seem to know the dickens of a lot, Hampton. The chauffeur? Oh, most observant chap. He had noticed the number, all right. QZ7623. Came out with it pat. Hadn’t ever seen the car before, he told me. Twenty horse Armstrong saloon, nearly new, painted blue. Very fine car, according to Scotney. And, would you believe it, the local chaps had never even asked him for the description!

  “Well, I happened to remember that QZ are the registration letters of the borough of Winborough, not more than seven or eight miles away. So off I went, straight away, to see the licensing authorities there. Sleepy old place, and sleepy old people. Took me a devil of a time at the Town Hall to find the man I wanted. Then we looked up the records, and found that QZ7623 had been allotted to the parson, Canon Pritchard. Chap at the Town Hall told me that his parishioners had just presented him with an Austin Seven. I saw at once there was something wrong, but I went on to the vicarage. There was the Austin in the garage, where Mrs. Pritchard swore it had been all the morning. Couldn’t see the vicar himself. Up in London, they told me, attending some sort of a conference of parsons.”

  “Convocation, of course. Well, what then?”

  “Well, it’s clear that the car that was at Hursley Lodge is sailing under false colours. I got on the ’phone to the Yard, to give orders to stop any car with the number QZ7623. As soon as I got through they told me that you had been asking for me, and were now at the Home Office. So I put a call through, and here I am. Any orders?”

  The Commissioner hesitated. It was in his mind to tell Littleton his candid opinion of his behaviour. Jumping to conclusions like that! Why the devil hadn’t he stayed at Hursley Lodge like a rational being? Only the presence of Anderson, the private secretary, restrained Compton from expressing his feelings.

  “You don’t seem to have been particularly successful in your search for the murderer,” he said. “The best thing you can do now is to get back to the Yard as quickly as you can. You can give me fuller details then.”

  He put down the telephone, and returned thoughtfully to the Home Secretary’s room. Sir Philip was still busy with his designs, which by now had almost completely covered his blotting paper. He looked up as the Commissioner came in. “Well, Hampton?” he asked cheerfully. “Any news?”

  The Commissioner was not in the least anxious to repeat the conversation which he had had with his assistant. He felt quite incapable of making it sound convincing in Sir Philip’s highly critical ears. Littleton had made a fool of himself, but there was no point in revealing this fact before an audience. Later, perhaps, he might have a chance of justifying himself privately. “Littleton told me nothing of importance that we do not know already,” he replied evasively.

  “Didn’t he?” said Sir Philip gently. “I confess that I had hoped that he would be able to solve the mystery. It does not often happen that the officer in charge of the Criminal Investigation Department is actually on the spot when a murder is committed. Littleton’s lack of information is disappointing. Most disappointing.”

  Rather an awkward silence fell upon the room. The Commissioner hastened to break it. He turned abruptly to Sir Charles. “What is the make and number of your car?” he asked.

  “It’s a comparatively new Armstrong saloon, and the number is QX7623,” replied Sir Charles without hesitation.

  The Commissioner nodded. So that point was explained. The chauffeur had probably memorized the number wrongly. QZ instead of QX. An easy enough mistake to make. QX was one of the London letters. But he was still anxious to divert attention from Littleton’s exploits. The pistol, lying on Sir Philip’s desk, caught his eye, and he picked it up.

  “You say that Lord Comstock kept this on his desk, Mr. Mills,” he said. Do you know why he did so? Had he any fear that he might be attacked?”

  Mills smiled rather contemptously. “Lord Comstock frequently expressed himself as being afraid of nobody,” he replied. “In any case, he would not have relied upon firearms to protect himself. One of his crime experts gave him that pistol, I believe. It was to form the basis of one of his criticisms of the methods of the police, or so I understand.”

  Hitherto, the pistol had been hidden from Churchill, seated at some distance from the desk. But as soon as the Commissioner picked it up, he could see it plainly. It was a small, vicious-looking weapon, not more than three inches over all. Churchill stared at it in amazement as Mills was speaking. Then he could no longer control himself. “Well, I’m blest if that isn’t another of them!” he exclaimed in what he may have believed to be a whisper.

  But it seemed that Sir Philip had remarkably good ears. He looked up at once, and took in the situation at a glance. Churchill’s remark had, for some reason, scandalized both the Commissioner and Shawford. They were frowning ominously, and the wretched superintendent looked as if he wished the floor to open and swallow him up. Another departmental secret, of course, thought Sir Philip.

  “I think, Hampton, that we have heard all that the witnesses can tell us for the present,” he said. “If you have no objection, we will talk this matter over together. But, in the absence of Littleton, I think that the Chief Constable and the Superintendent should remain.”

  Mills, Easton, and Farrant could, of course, be thus summarily dismissed; it was not even a compliment that the Commissioner went with them to the next room. The Chief Whip needed different treatment; and the Home Secretary was at pains to show his personal indebtedness for Sir Charles’ visit before he handed him over to the experienced ministrations of Mr. Anderson.

  The Commissioner, Shawford, and Churchill had time to await Sir Philip’s return in silent apprehension, but not to concert any measures of mutual support. Sir Philip resumed his place and his pencil, and immediately destroyed Churchill’s faint hope that his unfortunate remark has gone unnoticed.

  “Now, Superintendent!�
� he said sharply. “Perhaps you will tell us where you have seen a pistol like this before?”

  Churchill gulped, and ran his finger round between his collar and his neck. “I’m not sure about it, sir,” he began desperately. “When Sir Henry Hampton held it up just now, I thought—”

  “Let me have that pistol a moment, will you, Hampton?” said Sir Phillip. “Thank you. Bring your chair close up to the desk, Superintendent. I should not like you to be mistaken. Examine the pistol closely. Now, have you ever seen one like it before or not?”

  Churchill knew from the tone of the Home Secretary’s voice that he was not to be trifled with. He picked up the pistol gingerly, and laid it down again. “Yes, sir, I have seen one exactly like it,” he replied. “I don’t think that there are many in this country. The race-gangs are beginning to use them, sir. You can’t see a pistol that size when it’s held in the palm of the hand, and yet it’s a deadly little weapon at its own short range, and quiet too—sounds most like a toy pistol. A week or two ago the Sussex police got hold of a chap at Lewes races, and he had one of these on him. That’s how I came to see it, sir.”

  “Where did you see it, Superintendent?”

  “It was sent up to the Yard, sir, and Mr. Littleton called some of us into his room to show it to us.”

  “Oh, Mr. Littleton showed it to you, did he? When was this?”

  “Yesterday morning, sir. Chief Constable Shawford was there at the time, sir.”

  “Did Littleton show you this interesting specimen, Hampton?” asked Sir Philip.

  “No, he didn’t,” replied the Commissioner brusquely. “He did mention to me, however, that he had been sent a pistol captured at Lewes races.”

  “What did Mr. Littleton do with the pistol after he had shown it to you, Superintendent?”

  “As far as I remember, sir, he put it down on his desk.”

  “He put it down on his desk. Nasty thing to have lying about, especially as it might have been loaded. Was it loaded, do you know?”

  “It was when I first saw it, sir. But Mr. Littleton unloaded it while I was in the room, sir.”