Death in the Tunnel (4 page)

Arnold nodded. “There's one point I should like your opinion upon, sir. You know that Mr. Marden found in the compartment an automatic with the initials W.S. upon it. It seems to me rather queer that a magistrate, the chairman of the Bench, in fact, should commit the offence of having a pistol in his possession without taking out a certificate for it. Especially as I understand that he has a certificate for two other weapons.”

“That's a good point,” replied the superintendent approvingly. “I'll give you my opinion willingly. Sir Wilfred was an excellent and conscientious magistrate, and I don't think he made many mistakes while he was on the Bench. But he always gave me the impression that he considered himself as beyond the law. The law was an excellent thing, and he was a firm supporter of it. But it was made for other people, rather than for Sir Wilfred Saxonby.

“I don't mean that he habitually broke the law, or even that I know of a single instance in which he did so. But I feel pretty certain that he would have had no scruple about breaking the law, if it suited his own higher convenience. He would not have felt himself bound by restrictions which, in other cases, he would have been the first to enforce.

“This being so, you will understand my opinion. If Sir Wilfred had acquired a pistol for any ordinary purpose, he would not have hesitated to take out a certificate for it. On the other hand, if he acquired it for some purpose to which it was essential that it should not be suspected that he had it, the omission to take out a certificate would not have troubled his conscience. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, sir,” Arnold replied. He felt that he had now some idea of the dead man's character. Two things remained to be done. To discover a motive which might have induced Sir Wilfred to take his own life, and to eliminate any possibility of the shot having been fired by some other hand. He parted from the superintendent and Marden, and returned to the railway station.

IV

Arrived at the station, Arnold sought Mr. Cutbush in his office, to which, at his request, the booking clerk was summoned. The latter remembered perfectly selling Sir Wilfred a ticket on the previous morning. It had been a first-class day return to London. The return half of this ticket had not been handed in.

Having secured this information, Arnold took the next train, which happened to be a fast one, to Blackdown. During the journey, he pondered the question of the missing ticket. It was a trifling circumstance, as Marden had remarked. Anything might have happened. It might have fallen out of Sir Wilfred's pocket while his body was being carried from the compartment to the waiting-room, for instance. But supposing it hadn't? Suppose it had passed from Sir Wilfred's possession between the times of his passing the barrier at Cannon Street and his arrival at Stourford. What then?

Arnold repeated the question to himself without finding any plausible answer. It was ridiculous to suggest that it had been stolen from Sir Wilfred, either before or after his death. Who would steal a railway ticket, and leave behind valuables and a sum of money? Besides, how could anybody have obtained access to the locked compartment? Easily enough, if they had a railway key. But could they have done so without attracting notice? It seemed highly improbable. Arnold decided that it would be necessary to interrogate the other twenty-four passengers who had travelled in the first-class coach.

His train arrived at the entrance to Blackdown Tunnel as he reached this decision. Before it had travelled many yards farther, the windows of his compartment were rendered opaque by a mixture of smoke and steam deposited on the outside. And the roar was certainly loud enough to drown the report of a small pistol. Arnold noted these things. He also timed the passage of the train through the tunnel. It took three minutes and twenty-five seconds. Allowing for the slowing up and acceleration, the train in which Sir Wilfred had been travelling must have taken at least five minutes. And a lot can happen in five minutes, as Arnold knew well enough.

Shortly after emerging from the tunnel, the train pulled up at Blackdown station. Arnold got out, and sought the station-master, to whom he introduced himself. He explained that he was investigating the death of Sir Wilfred Saxonby, who had been found dead the previous day on the arrival at Stourford of the five o'clock train from Cannon Street. “And there's some reason to believe that he died in Blackdown Tunnel,” he added.

“In the tunnel, eh?” the station-master replied. “That's not the only queer thing that happened in the tunnel yesterday evening. The driver of that very train reported that he was held up in the tunnel by a man waving a red light. He must have dreamt it, for there was certainly nobody there.”

“Can you be sure of that?” Arnold asked.

“As sure as that I'm talking to you now. I'll explain why. To begin with, the tunnel isn't exactly the place one would choose for an evening stroll. The public don't use it as a promenade, so to speak. The only people who ever go into it on foot are the permanent way men. And, during the whole of yesterday, none of these men set foot inside it. Besides, they don't go in singly. They go in a gang, and light flares. The driver reports no flares, only a red light which changed to green just before he reached it.

“Now, I know what you're going to say. If it wasn't one of the permanent way men, it must have been some unauthorised person who had somehow wandered in. Well, I say it couldn't have been, and for this reason. At each end of the tunnel there is a signal cabin, and nobody could possibly get in without being seen by the men on duty. Even after dark a strong light shines from the windows of the cabins on to the line. There's no question of a man slipping past in a fog, for it was perfectly clear yesterday evening. I've questioned the men on duty at both ends, and they swear that nobody can have gone in or out.

“But I wasn't satisfied with that. It struck me that perhaps, by some miracle, somebody might have got into the tunnel and been run over. So, as soon as I heard about the driver's report, I sent a search party through, to look for a body, or bits of one. Of course, they found nothing of the kind. I never for a moment expected that they would. You may take it from me, inspector, that there was nobody in the tunnel yesterday evening.”

“Then how do you account for the driver's report?” Arnold asked.

The station-master shrugged his shoulders.

“Tunnels are queer places,” he replied. “You've never been through one, except in a train, I suppose? And then you're nice and comfortable, and you run through so quick that you don't have time to notice things. If you'd ever been through on foot, you wouldn't want to repeat the experience. It's pitch dark, to begin with, and then it's usually full of smoke and steam, unless the wind happens to be blowing through it.

“I can imagine a driver, even an experienced man, imagining that he saw a light. Maybe a reflection in the window of his cab, or something like that. He'd naturally pull up, for we believe in safety first on the railway, whatever they may think on the roads. And when he saw that it wasn't a red light at all, but only a reflection, he'd go ahead again.

“But he'd have to account for slowing down. And he wouldn't care to make himself look a fool by saying that he thought he saw a red light when there hadn't been one there at all. So he'd make up a yarn like this, about the red light that turned to green, and his fireman would back him up. And that, you'll find, is about the truth of it.”

After this conversation with the station-master at Blackdown, Arnold continued his journey to London. The engine-driver's report seemed to be disposed of. The train had certainly slowed down in the tunnel, that at least was an established fact. But only because of an hallucination on the part of the driver. He had seen a red and a green light where none could have existed. Rather an uncanny happening, if those lights had been seen at the moment of Sir Wilfred's death. Could the flash of the pistol have had anything to do with it? By some extraordinary trick of reflection, could the driver have seen this flash as a red light ahead of him? Not under ordinary circumstances, Arnold imagined. But, as the station-master had said, tunnels were queer places.

He arrived at Cannon Street, and there made a few further inquiries. As a result of these he learnt that passengers had to show their tickets at the barrier before obtaining access to the platforms. The ticket inspector who had been on duty the previous evening happened to know Sir Wilfred by sight. He remembered punching his ticket, the return half of a first-class to Stourford. At the barrier, Sir Wilfred had extracted the ticket from a leather wallet, from which at the same time he took a pound note. The ticket inspector believed that, after his ticket had been examined, Sir Wilfred had put it back in the wallet. When he reached the platform, he stopped and spoke to the guard, and they had walked up the train together. Sir Wilfred had been carrying an attaché-case, but no other luggage.

This confirmed Turner's statement, but threw no fresh light on the mystery of the ticket. In fact, it rather tended to deepen that mystery. If Sir Wilfred had put it back in his wallet, the possibility of it having fallen out at Stourford was removed. Arnold made a mental note of this, as one of the puzzling but possibly irrelevant features of the case. He then walked to Shrubb Court, and entered the imposing offices of Messrs Wigland and Bunthorne.

The death of the chairman of the company did not seem to have upset the decorous routine of the place. Arnold handed in his card, and asked to see the secretary. He was received by a pleasant, energetic-looking man of about forty, tall, clean-shaven and muscular, who introduced himself as Mr. Torrance. “You've come about this most unfortunate affair of Sir Wilfred, I suppose, inspector?” he said. “Make yourself comfortable, and I'll try to answer your questions as well as I can.”

“That's very good of you, Mr. Torrance,” Arnold replied. “In the first place, I'd be glad to know something of the firm of Wigland and Bunthorne, and the position which Sir Wilfred held in it.”

“That's an easy one to start with, inspector. We are importers of produce, mainly from the East. Tea, coffee, rubber, spices, almost everything you can think of. The business was started in a small way over a hundred years ago by two partners, the original Wigland and Bunthorne. Their successors were bought out some fifty years ago by Oscar Saxonby, Sir Wilfred's father. Oscar became Lord Mayor, and received a baronetcy. At his death, Sir Wilfred succeeded him. When his son, Richard, came of age, he made the business into a private company, with himself as chairman, and Richard and two others as directors. For some time after that Sir Wilfred took an active part in the management. But, shortly after Lady Saxonby's death, Richard Saxonby was appointed managing director, and his father practically handed over the direction of the business to him. Since then Sir Wilfred has confined himself to attending directors' meetings, and coming up here once, and occasionally twice a week.”

“What did he do on those occasions?”

“Either one of the directors or myself would give him a sort of résumé of the past week. He would comment upon this, and make suggestions. Then he would study the various market reports. He had a room of his own here, where he could sit without being disturbed. I will show it to you, if you care to see it.”

“I should like to do so later. Sir Wilfred was here yesterday, I understand?”

“He was. I did not see him personally, as I had gone to Manchester, where we have a branch office. However, my assistant was with him shortly before he left here to catch his train home.”

“You had, however, seen him fairly recently, I suppose, Mr. Torrance?”

“I saw him on the previous Thursday, the seventh, and spent a considerable time with him in his room.”

“Then you may be able to tell me whether you noticed any change in Sir Wilfred lately. Did he seem the same, when you last saw him, as you had always known him?”

Torrance hesitated.
“
Well, to all appearances he seemed the same. But I happen to know that he had something on his mind, for he discussed it with me that very day.”

“I don't want to ask indiscreet questions, Mr. Torrance,” said Arnold. “But was this something connected with the business?”

“Oh, dear no, nothing like that. I may as well tell you at once that Sir Wilfred had no business worries. He didn't trouble himself about the minor matters which are the principal sources of anxiety to heads of departments. And, for the rest, the firm's affairs are in an exceptionally flourishing condition. We escaped the worst consequences of the depression, and since the recent improvement in trade we have gone ahead rapidly. Sir Wilfred, when I saw him, was very pleased with a report from Mr. Richard—Sir Richard, as he is now—who is in America. He said himself that the prospects of the firm were never brighter.”

“Then he felt no concern over his financial affairs?”

“Not the slightest. He had no occasion to do so. But he was worried, in my opinion rather unduly worried, about his daughter, Mrs. Wardour. She and Major Wardour have not been hitting it off for some time past. How serious their disagreement is, I do not know, though Mrs. Wardour, who is now one of our directors, has made disparaging remarks about her husband in my hearing. But Sir Wilfred must have taken a particularly gloomy view, for he asked me about the legal aspect of separation. And I could see that he was very much worried over the situation that had arisen.”

“Major and Mrs. Wardour are now motoring in the South of France, are they not?”

“Yes, at Sir Wilfred's suggestion. I think he had an idea that if they went together away from their usual surroundings, they might find a means of composing their differences. I may say that there was a letter from Mrs. Wardour awaiting him here yesterday.”

“Was it usual for Mrs. Wardour to write to her father here, and not at Mavis Court?”

“Not unusual. Sir Wilfred used to have a good deal of his correspondence addressed here. Mainly, I think, because there was a typist available, and he could dictate the replies. Any letters that came for him were laid on his table, to await his next visit. Naturally I know Mrs. Wardour's handwriting, and I noticed this letter. It bore a French stamp, and arrived here on Tuesday. I put it on Sir Wilfred's table myself that morning.”

A rather curious idea passed through Arnold's mind. “Richard Saxonby's visit to America is connected with the affairs of the firm, I understand. Was it undertaken at Sir Wilfred's suggestion?”

“Yes, decidedly. We have considerable interests there, and for some time Sir Wilfred had maintained that one of the directors should go over and observe conditions at first hand. At one time he spoke of going himself, but he abandoned the idea not long ago, and urged Mr. Richard to go instead. He said that the trip would do him good, and that if he took his wife they would both enjoy it.”

“And Richard Saxonby fell in with his father's suggestion?”

“People usually fell in with Sir Wilfred's suggestions,” replied Torrance dryly.

Arnold nodded. He had gathered as much already. “Do you think I might see your assistant, whom you mentioned as having seen Sir Wilfred yesterday?” he asked.

The assistant secretary was sent for. He was an older man than Torrance, and Arnold guessed that he had risen from the position of chief clerk. He had been in attendance on Sir Wilfred all day, off and on. Sir Wilfred had arrived at the office between half-past eleven and twelve. There were perhaps a dozen letters awaiting him. One of these he had picked up, read, and laid aside.

He had then asked for the usual résumé, which he had read and discussed with various members of the firm. This had occupied him until shortly after one, when he had gone out to lunch. He came back about two, and shortly afterwards sent for a typist, to whom he dictated half a dozen letters. Some further papers, dealing with matters of routine, and of no particular importance, were put before him. In the course of the afternoon he had a visitor, a well-dressed young man, who gave the name of Yates, and said he had an appointment with Sir Wilfred. On being informed of his visit, Sir Wilfred gave orders that he was to be shown up to his room at once. He remained there for ten minutes, certainly not longer, then went away. He and Sir Wilfred were alone in the latter's room during the interview.