Ten Star Clues (31 page)

“Nonsense, and Clinton Wells knew it,” Bobby told him. “Once Lord Wych knew the truth, he would have faced it. He would never have dreamed of accepting a stranger as heir to the family title and estates. Also he would have known the truth would be sure to come out in the long run. Ralph Hoyle was already threatening legal action. For nine months perhaps, until the real heir got back. Not a day longer. But that explains why he insisted that he was doing Ralph no injustice. He wasn't in a sense, since there actually was then an heir who came before Ralph.”

“Clinton Wells said it might be that way,” Bertram answered. “If when the old lord knew it all, he wouldn't stand for me being the next lord after him—and mind you, I was tickled to death at first at the notion of being a British lord, me being had for a sucker, and never suspicioning what it meant, or knowing anything about Miss Anne what ought to be running a farm down Tennessee way, nor how there was going to be a war and every one taking it I wanted to be the world's little hero. I thought it was a cinch being a British lord, but now I'm just as glad as not to be out of it.”

“I suppose,” Bobby remarked, “you hadn't sense enough to see how entirely, if the scheme had gone through, you would have been under Clinton Wells's thumb. He would have had the last penny out of you. If you had tried to kick, he could have posed as having been deceived by you, but having gradually discovered the truth. And so established a claim on Ralph, made sure for ever of the Wych estate business, and made sure, too, of a first-class reputation as the man who unveiled the great Wych peerage conspiracy. A foot in both camps and all ready for it if you tried to kick. But you would never have dared.” 

“I figured it might be that way,” the other answered composedly. “I remember first day I thought that was going to be his game when he staged that bit about being Ralph's attorney and acting for him against me. I didn't like it much, but he talked me down. Said having it that way, he would know every move on Ralph's side and have all the answers pat. I never trusted him, but me being had for a sucker, same as I said before, I reckoned the chance of being a British lord was worth it. Now I know a whole heap more about the job, and I'm not so keen.”

“We had better go back to the castle,” Bobby said “I must ring up Colonel Glynne and see what he thinks.”

“Mind you,” added the sham Bertram as they walked along, “I haven't an idea who corpsed the old lord—Ralph, I thought, along of being peeved about me. Only afterwards I wasn't so sure. I did think at times it might be Miss Anne in a hurry to put her hands on me and the rest of it all at once.”

Bobby made no reply, and when they reached the castle he got the use of one of the 'phones. He had his story to tell, but there was news for him also. Presently he rang off.

“Clinton Wells is on his way here,” he said to his companion. “At least I think he is coming here. He seems to have guessed there are developments, and probably he is coming along to tell you what to say. Or perhaps,” Bobby added thoughtfully, “he means to double-cross you now things are getting warm. Pretend he has just found you out. It's pretty certain that's a card he was keeping up his sleeve. I've my instructions, though.”

They had not long to wait, for soon Clinton Wells arrived, driving up the long avenue that led to the castle. Bobby had asked that he should be brought straight to this room without being told who was there. Yet he showed little surprise when he saw who were the occupants. One quick glance from Bertram to Bobby and back, and he seemed to divine instinctively what had happened. 

“Inspector,” he began, “I'm glad you're here. It's a bit of luck. I may as well tell you at once I have found reason to believe that this man is an impostor.”

“You dirty, double-crossing—” began Bertram in a fury, but Bobby checked him with a lifted hand.

“Mr. Clinton Wells,” he said, “last night we detained Martin, the butler here, for inquiries. This morning he has made a statement. I have just been informed by 'phone. It seems he is prepared to give evidence that on the night of the murder he heard shots fired and he saw you running away. That, of course, makes him an accessory after the fact, but he will probably be accepted as king's witness.” Clinton Wells listened quietly and with a faintly contemptuous smile.

“Do you really think any jury is going to believe that yarn?” he asked. “As a matter of fact, Martin meant blackmail, he tried it on a few days ago, he hinted at some such yarn. I only laughed. I thought it too ridiculous. I kicked him out. This is his revenge.”

“I agree Martin is not a very reliable witness,” Bobby answered. “I am inclined to believe, when we go into it, we shall find he is on record for something like blackmail before. All the same, as I am to take you to headquarters where you will be charged with murder, I must warn you before you say anything more.”

“You seriously intend to charge me with the murder of old Lord Wych on the word of a scamp like Martin?” Clinton Wells asked incredulously. “You'll be the world's laughing stock.”

“For a long time,” Bobby answered slowly, “I have thought you were probably the murderer. It was almost certain the pistol used was either the Wych estate office pistol or the one kept in the castle library. But there was evidence Miss Anne Hoyle had the one from the castle library, and though she very foolishly attempted to hide it, it has been found now, and we know from expert examination that it is not the murder weapon. Nor did it ever seem likely that she was guilty. But your own story of what happened in the estate office the day of the murder, the last time the pistol there was seen, showed that you had the opportunity to secure it. You were the only person left alone in the office with the key, the pistol, and the safe. Mr. Longden never had the key of the office door. Ralph hadn't the key of the safe. He might have provided himself with duplicate keys, but there was no evidence that he had done so, and if he had contemplated committing murder with the pistol it seemed unlikely that he would have gone to such pains to advertise his possession of the thing. So you see, you seemed indicated, but I had to wait till we could get hold of the pistol before we had the proof we wanted. Expert examination of the weapon and the bullets taken from Earl Wych's body give it now. What bothered me was that at first I couldn't imagine any possible motive. But now I know about your elaborate scheme to put up an impostor as the next Earl Wych and then be able to blackmail him to your heart's content. You would have been almost earl yourself, wouldn't you? When Ralph Hoyle threatened legal action, and when Earl Wych showed he was beginning to be suspicious, you got frightened and tried to make yourself safe by egging Ralph on to quarrel with the old earl and then murdering the old man before he could repudiate the impostor, at the same time fastening suspicion on Ralph. I don't suppose you cared very much whether Ralph were actually hanged or not, the mere suspicion would have ruined his chance of being successful in a lawsuit.”

Clinton Wells had listened quietly, smiling all the time with what seemed a confident and slightly contemptuous amusement. Whatever Bobby had hoped for by way of reaction or self-betrayal failed to materialize.

“Of all the ingenious fantasies spun out of nothing at all,” he said coolly when Bobby paused. “Good gracious, if you were mad enough to attempt to take such a case into court, you would very soon be laughed out again. No jury would listen for a moment.”

“Well, perhaps not,” Bobby agreed unexpectedly. “So we are not charging you with the murder of old Lord Wych. It might be difficult to secure a conviction.”

“Glad you think so,” Clinton Wells sneered. “Good morning.” He turned towards the door, and then stopped and frowned when he saw a plain clothes constable lounging there. “Of course, you understand,” he said, “the matter will not end here. You will hear more of it.”

“But we are charging you,” Bobby continued, once more unexpectedly, “with the murder of Bertram Hoyle, passing as Bertram Brown, but actually having succeeded to the Wych peerage, though he himself never knew it. He was recently released under the parole system from an American prison, he called to see you at your office in Midwych, he left there in your company, his body has now been discovered, in Wychwood Forest, near the Charles the Second oak—”

Abruptly Clinton Wells's composure deserted him, he made a step forward, staggered, collapsed on the nearest chair.

On the sea front at Torquay, for this was still the period of the ‘phoney' war, with the Maginot Line complex in full force and the British government still murmuring complacently that ‘ time was on our side', Bobby and Olive were seated together. The strenuous days Bobby had endured during the inquiry into the Castle Wych case had earned him a brief special leave. On his knees lay the morning paper in which he had noted three items of very different import. For one recorded the dismissal by the Court of Appeal, without any reply thought necessary, of the appeal Clinton Wells had made against the death sentence passed at his recent trial; the second mentioned the departure for the United States, ‘on a long visit', of Miss Anne Hoyle, grand-daughter of the late Earl Wych, and cousin to the present earl; and, thirdly, an announcement of the engagement of Ralph, Earl Wych, to Sophia, daughter of the Rev. Louis Longden, of Brimpton Wych, Midwych, Wychshire.

“And not a word or a hint in the papers anywhere,” Olive said admiringly, “about the real Bertram having been in an American gaol and only released on parole.”

“Decent of the papers,” Bobby admitted. “There have been one or two hints, though, in some of the less responsible gossip columns, but luckily they weren't sure enough of their facts to say much, and the tale was too extraordinary for much to be said without the full information they hadn't got.”

“I never believed it would be possible to keep so much back,” Olive said. “I thought everything would have to be told at the trial.”

“Well, most of it wasn't relevant to the simple question of whether Clinton Wells did or did not commit the second murder,” Bobby answered. “Nothing either need or should be said at a trial that isn't strictly confined to the question of guilt or innocence in the one particular instance. The fact that Clinton had also shot the old earl was implicit in the evidence, but, strictly speaking, was irrelevant to the charge on which he was being tried. A man can only be hanged once, and once that one charge was proved there was no need to open another. The evidence was as strong as evidence could well be. There was Messrs. Blacklock's office boy to identify the dead man as haying called at the office and as having left with Clinton Wells. There was evidence that he had accompanied him home. They were seen entering the forest together. Clinton Wells was seen leaving it alone. There was Martin's evidence that he heard shots and the evidence of the farmer he was talking to at the time. Martin's story that he found the automatic under the Charles the Second oak is confirmed by the traces of soil on it. There are the footprints to show Clinton Wells was actually on the spot earlier, there are half a dozen other points adding up to complete certainty. Clinton Wells had grown careless. I think he had no idea how closely he was being watched or that our suspicions were already pointing very strongly to him.”

“I suppose it was through him that Ralph went off on that Glasgow visit that looked so suspicious?”

“Oh, yes. Ralph refused, or rather he thought he had refused, to take Clinton's advice about not having his ‘show down' with his great-uncle. Actually, of course, Clinton, while pretending to dissuade him, had been cunningly egging him on, just as he took every opportunity to talk to us about Ralph's hot temper, so as to give an edge to our suspicions. But Ralph trusted him, felt he mustn't neglect his advice a second time, and so when Clinton came along with his tale of someone staying at the Northern Lights Hotel, who could give proof of the claimant's real identity, he went off obediently to see about it. So that no one should know, Clinton persuaded Ralph that secrecy was necessary, and that he must get off quietly without letting any one know why or where he had gone.”

“And then I suppose rang him up again to send him off to another promised meeting near the Charles the Second oak?”

“That's why,” Bobby explained, “he dropped those hints he knew would reach us, about the oak. Then he got the genuine Bertram there by telling him some yarn or another, shot him, hid the body, and took care to leave the Wych estate office automatic he had used once before where he knew it must be seen. That was to make sure we would search further and find the body we were expected to think had been hidden by Ralph. The calculation was that we should with luck discover Ralph on the spot, or if not, at least we couldn't help knowing he had been there. Clinton Wells thought that would make Ralph's arrest certain. So it would. And Ralph's arrest he thought would make his own position secure and put Bertram No. 1, the sham Bertram, in full possession of title and estates—and at the same time entirely in his power. Probably as soon as he knew that the genuine Bertram had been released and had reached England, he decided that only fresh murder could save him. A pretty desperate gamble, though it might have come off. But he didn't expect little Sophy Longden to guess, in some way she knows best, that mischief was being planned against Ralph, that somehow it centred round the old oak, and then to make up her mind that she was just jolly well going to see he was warned in time. Not every girl would have faced that long trip into the forest at that time of night. Not every one would much care for being alone in Wychwood at midnight. Lucky for me she took it on, though, or that fool of a Martin might have potted me. And Clinton Wells had not reckoned either on Martin's spotting there was something on and trotting off to see what it was. It was he who found the automatic left there for our benefit, and he got a nasty jolt, too, when he and I ran into each other, and he realised he was caught with the murder weapon in his possession. Lost his head completely. Well, the king's evidence he gave was very useful. Blackmail was his game from the first and it was the hope of blackmail, of course, that made him hold his tongue so long about what he saw on the night of the old earl's murder.”