CHAPTER III
THE DELVERTON AFFAIR
After our experience at Whiteladies Christopher Quarles went into Devonshire. He declared that excitement of that kind was a little too much for a man of his years and he must take a long rest to recuperate and get his nerves in order. Under no circumstances whatever was I to bother him with any problems. Had I been able to do so I should have gone away too. Sir Michael Lavory had succeeded in giving me the jumps. In her letters Zena told me the professor was playing golf, and knowing something of him as a golfer, I rather pitied the men he induced to play with him. It was not so much that he was a very bad player, it was the peculiar twist in his brain which convinced him that he was a good one. To give him a hint was to raise his anger at once.
One morning I received a letter from him, two pages of golf talk, in which he opined he was playing at about five handicap—pure imagination, of course, because he never kept a card and didn't count his foozled shots—and then he came to the raison d'être of his letter.
"I want you to look up a case," he wrote. "It happened about three years ago. A man named Farrell, partner in the firm of Delverton Brothers of Austin Friars, was found dead in his office. An open verdict was returned. It may have been a case of suicide. Get all the facts you can. If you can obtain any information from some who were interested in the tragedy, do. I am not sure that the result of your inquiries will interest me, but it may. Send me along a full report, it may bring me back to Chelsea, but I am so keen to put another fifty yards on to my drive that I may remain here for three months. Why live in Chelsea when there is such a place as Devonshire?"
I remembered that the Delverton case had caused a considerable amount of excitement at the time, and had remained an unsolved mystery, but I knew no more than this. Three years ago I had been away from London engaged on an intricate investigation, with neither time nor inclination to think of anything else.
As it happened there was little difficulty in getting a very full account of the affair. It had been in the hands of Detective Southey, since retired, and it was a persistent grievance with him that this case had beaten him. He was delighted to talk about it when I went to see him in his little riverside cottage at Twickenham.
Delverton Brothers were foreign bankers, and at the time of the tragedy consisted of three partners, John and Martin Delverton, who were brothers, and Thomas Farrell, their nephew. John Delverton was an invalid, and for a year past had only come to the office for an hour once or twice a week. He had died about six months after the tragedy.
One day during a Stock Exchange settlement Thomas Farrell left the office early, and Martin Delverton was there until seven o'clock. When he left the only clerks remaining in the outer office were Kellner, the second in seniority on the staff, and a junior named Small.
These two left the office together ten minutes after Mr. Delverton had gone. Next morning when the housekeeper went to the offices he found Thomas Farrell sitting at the table in his private room, his head fallen on his arms, which were stretched across the table. He had died from the effects of poison, yet the tumbler beside him showed no traces of poison.
Medical evidence proved that he had been dead some hours, but there was nothing to show at what time he had returned to the office.
"In view of the doctor's statement it must have been between ten minutes past seven and midnight," Southey told me. "The poison would produce intense drowsiness, then sleep from which there was no waking. The time of its action would vary in different individuals. I am inclined to think it was late when he returned. He was a well-known figure in Austin Friars and Throgmorton Street, and had he been about earlier in the evening some one would almost certainly have seen him. That part of the world is alive to a late hour during a Stock Exchange settlement. The offices consist of a large outer room, which accommodates seven or eight clerks, and two private rooms opening into one another, but opening into the outer office only from the first room. This first room, which is the larger of the two, the brothers Delverton occupied, Farrell having the smaller inner room. From this there is a side door which gives on to a short passage leading into Austin Friars. The partners used this side door constantly, each of them having a key to the Yale lock, and we know from Mr. Delverton that Farrell went out by the side door that afternoon. Presumably he returned by it. Everything seemed to point to suicide, and possibly had there been a shadow of a motive for Farrell taking his own life, a verdict of suicide would have been returned. Apparently there was no motive. His affairs were in perfect order, he was shortly to be married, and the only person who suggested that he had looked in any way worried recently was the junior clerk, Small."
"What of the woman he was to have married?"
"She was a Miss Lester, and she introduces a complication. Her people were comparatively poor, her father being a clerk in a City bank. Mr. Farrell, according to Miss Lester, had helped her father out of some difficulty, and it was undoubtedly parental persuasion which had arranged the marriage. It was a case of gratitude rather than love. But that is not all. At the Lesters' house there was another constant visitor, a young doctor named Morrison, and he and Farrell became friends in spite of the fact that they were two angles of a triangle, Ruth Lester being the third angle. The position was this: Morrison was in love with the girl, but remained silent because he was too poor to marry; the girl loved him, but, thinking that he was indifferent, consented to marry Farrell. Whether Farrell was aware of this it is impossible to say. Now on the very day of Farrell's death, Dr. Morrison called and asked for him at the offices in Austin Friars. The clerk took in his name, and was told by Mr. Delverton that Mr. Farrell had left for the day. This was the first intimation the clerks had that he had left, and seems an indirect proof that no one in the office could have had anything to do with the tragedy. Farrell had been gone about an hour then. Morrison left no message, merely asked that Mr. Farrell should be told he had called."
"What was Morrison's explanation?" I asked.
"He said Farrell had requested him to call. He was going to give him a tip for a little flutter in the mining market."
"Is it known where Farrell went that afternoon?"
"I see you think the doctor's explanation thin, just as I did. Farrell told his partner that he had an appointment with Miss Lester; Miss Lester says there was no appointment. Naturally I at once speculated whether Farrell and Morrison had met later in the afternoon. I followed that trail every inch of the way. The doctor was poor and somewhat in debt, and—"
"And Farrell, who died by poison, which is significant, was his rival?" I said.
"I thought of all that," Southey returned. "Fortunately for him the doctor could account for every hour of his time. Of course, the man in the street was suspicious of him—is still, perhaps, to some extent, but it hasn't prevented his getting on. He married Ruth Lester, and I hear is getting a good practise together."
"What conclusion did you come to?"
"I am inclined to think there was some international reason at the back of the mystery, some difficulty with a foreign government, it may be. If Farrell had become mixed up in such an affair suicide might be the way out. I suggested this to Mr. Delverton, and he did not scout it as altogether a ridiculous idea. These foreign bankers are sometimes very much behind the scenes in European politics."
"Do you know whether the invalid brother was at the office that day?" I asked.
"He was not. He was quite incapacitated at the time."
I hunted up one or two points which occurred to me, and then went to
Austin Friars to call upon Mr. Delverton.
He was out of town, yachting, but his partner came into the clerks' office to see me. I told him that my business with Mr. Delverton was private.
This partner, I discovered, was Kellner, who had formerly been a clerk in the firm. He was the man who, with the junior, had been the last to leave the office on the night of the tragedy. He was worth a little attention, and I spent two days making inquiries about him. He was as smart a man of business as could be found within a mile radius of the Royal Exchange, I was informed, a wonderful linguist, with a profound knowledge of financial matters. Now he was a wealthy man, but three years ago he had been in very low water.
This discovery sent me to Twickenham again. I said nothing about Kellner having become a partner in Delverton Brothers'; I merely asked Southey whether he had satisfactorily accounted for his time on the fatal night.
"Didn't I tell you?" said Southey. "Oh, yes, he had an absolute alibi; so had the youth Small. I made them my first business."
I did not call on Dr. Morrison, but I went to his neighborhood, and asked a few questions. Everybody spoke well of the doctor, which, of course, might mean much or little, and I was fortunate enough to see him with his wife in a motor. He looked like a doctor, a forceful and self-reliant man, not one to lose his head or give himself away. He would be likely to carry through any enterprise he set his mind to. His wife, without being beautiful, was attractive, the kind of woman you begin to call pretty after you have known her a little while.
That night I wrote a full report to Christopher Quarles with my own comments in the margin, and three days later I had a wire from Zena, saying they were returning to Chelsea at once.
There was no need to ask the professor whether the case interested him or not. He began by being complimentary about my report, praised my astuteness in not calling upon the doctor, and he made me give him a verbal description of Morrison and his wife.
"Of course, Wigan, looks count for nothing, but they are often misleading evidence, and we are told to beware of that man of whom every one speaks well. The most saintly individual I ever knew had a strong likeness to a notorious criminal I once saw, and on a slight acquaintance you and I would probably have trusted Cleopatra or Helen of Troy, neither of them very estimable women, I take it. Now apparently this doctor and his wife are near the center of this mystery."
"It seems so, but—"
"Believe me, I am making no accusation," he interrupted; "indeed, I am more inclined to argue that they occupy an eccentric point within the circle rather than the true center. Still, we must not overlook one or two facts which you have duly emphasized in your report. The rivalry between Morrison and Farrell does supply, as you say, a motive for the crime, if crime it was, and it is the only motive that is apparent. Again, a doctor could obtain and make use of poison with less risk than most men. And, again, it is curious the doctor should call on Farrell on that particular day. The visit might be a subtle move to establish his innocence. True, according to Southey, his time after the visit was accounted for, but how about the time before the visit? Farrell had already left the office an hour, and might have met Morrison."
"Do you suggest he was poisoned then, and came back hours afterwards to die in the office?"
"You think that unlikely?"
"I do."
"Still, we must recollect the action of this particular poison," said Quarles. "It produces drowsiness, the time necessary to get to this condition varying in different persons, and the doctor, knowing Farrell, might be able to gage how long it would take in his case. Of course, we labor under difficulties. Three years having passed, we cannot rely on direct investigation. Purposely I gave you no bias when I asked you to gather up the known facts, and from your report I judge you have come to the conclusion that Farrell committed suicide, possibly driven into a corner by some international complication."
"Yes, on the whole, I lean to that idea."
"It is not the belief of Mr. Delverton himself."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I met Martin Delverton in Devonshire. He was yachting round the coast and came ashore for golf. We played together several times, and became quite friendly. It was not until he began to talk about it that I remembered there had ever been a Delverton mystery. Practically he gave me the same history of the case as your report does, missing some points certainly, but enlarging considerably on others. That the villain had escaped justice seemed to rankle in his mind, and he was contemptuous of the intelligence of Scotland Yard. The tragedy, he said, had hastened his brother's end, and I judged he had no great love for the Morrisons."
"He knew who you were, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes; and included my intelligence in the sneer at Scotland Yard. He argued the point with me until he forced me to admit that there was a large element of luck in most of my successes."
"You admitted that?" I exclaimed.
"I did. I had just beaten him three up and two to play, so was in an angelic frame of mind. Even then he would not let me alone. He wanted to know how I should have gone to work had the case been in my hands. To his evident delight I gave him arguments on the lines of our empty room conferences, making one thing especially clear, that I should have enquired far more closely about the Morrisons than had been done. This interested him immensely, and he did not attempt to hide from me the fact that his suspicions lay in the same direction. He became keen that I should look into the mystery; indeed, he challenged my skill. I am taking up that challenge, and I am going to tell the world the truth about Farrell's death."
"You know it?"
"Not yet, but the key to it is in this report of yours. Do you know what has become of the junior clerk, Small?"
"No. He left the firm to go abroad, I understand."
"I should like to have asked him whether John Delverton, the invalid partner, had seemed worried when he was last at the office."
"He was not at the office that day. I asked that question, and Southey is certain upon the point."
"Farrell might have left early to see him."
"Of course, we might question Kellner," I suggested.
"Kellner has the interests of the firm at heart, and is not personally connected with the affair. I don't suppose he will be pleased to have the old mystery raked up; naturally he will fear damage to the firm. I do not think he would be inclined to help us in any way, and I can imagine his being angry with Delverton for mentioning the affair to me."
"Still, I think there is something that wants explaining about Mr. Kellner," said Zena, "You evidently thought so too, Murray, since you made such minute inquiries about him."
"I do not think there is anything against him," I answered.
"I am not very interested in Kellner's past," said the professor, "and as we cannot get hold of Small we must do a little guessing."
"Is there anything further for me to do?" I asked.
"One thing. I want you to get hold of some stockbroker you know, and get him to tell you whether there was any kind of panic here, or on the Continent, with regard to any foreign securities between three and four years ago. Find out, if you can, the names of any members of the House who were hammered during that period, and the names of any firms considered shaky at the time. I am not hoping for much useful information, but we may learn something to assist our guesswork."
The information I obtained on the following day amounted to little. As my friend in Threadneedle Street said, three years on the Stock Exchange are a lifetime. In the different markets there had been several crises during the period I mentioned, and certain men, chiefly small ones, had gone under. As for shaky firms, it was impossible to speak unless you were closely interested. A good firm, under temporary stress, would probably be bolstered up, and a week or two might find it in affluence again.
I went to Chelsea with the information, such as it was, but only saw Zena. Quarles was out, and I did not see him for nearly a week. Then he 'phoned to me to call for him one evening and to come in evening dress.
"I am dining with Mr. Delverton to-night," he said, "and I asked him if I might bring you. He returned to town at the beginning of the week, and I have seen him two or three times, once at the office in Austin Friars. I did not see Kellner, he happened to be away that day."
Martin Delverton lived in Dorchester Square, rather a pompous house, and he was rather a pompous individual. Of course he wasn't a bit like Quarles in appearance, yet I was struck by a certain characteristic resemblance between them. They both had that annoying way of appearing to mean more than they said, and of watering down their arguments to meet the requirements of your inferior intellect.
I had become accustomed to it in Quarles, but in a stranger I should have resented it had not the professor told me of the peculiarity beforehand, and warned me not to be annoyed.
He gave us an excellent dinner, and our conversation for a time had nothing to do with the mystery.
"Well, Mr. Quarles, have you brought this affair to a head?" Mr.
Delverton asked at last.
"I think so."
"Sufficiently to bring the criminal to book?"
"If not, I could hardly claim success, could I?"
"You might claim it," laughed Delverton, "but I should not be satisfied. Possibly I have my own opinion, but I trust nothing I have said has influenced you and led you to a wrong conclusion. I do not want you to get me into trouble by saying that I suggested who the criminal was."
"Not if I could prove that the solution was correct?"
"That might be a different matter, of course."
"It would prove your astuteness, Mr. Delverton," said Quarles. "Mine would be only the spade work which any one can do when he has been told how. Perhaps you will let me explain in my own way, and I will go over the old ground as little as possible, since we three are aware of the main facts and the investigations which originally took place. First, then, the manner of Mr. Farrell's death. Now, since he was found in his own private office, sitting at his own desk, with a tumbler beside him, it is evident that if he did not commit suicide it was intended that it should appear as if he had done so. To believe it a case of suicide is the simplest solution. He could enter the office by the side door at his will, he could poison himself there at his leisure, and it would never occur to him to imagine that any one would afterwards suspect he had met his death in any other way. The one thing missing is the motive. The only person even to suggest that Farrell had looked worried was the junior clerk, Small, and his uncorroborated opinion does not count for much. Besides, his affairs were in order, and he was about to be married. You must stop me, Mr. Delverton, if I make any incorrect statements."
"Certainly. So far you have merely repeated what every one knows."
"Except in one minor particular," said Quarles. "I lay special emphasis on the desire of some one to show that it was a case of suicide. If we deny suicide this becomes an important point, for we have to enquire when and how the poison was administered. Did Farrell at some time before midnight bring some one back to the office with him? For what purpose was he brought there? How was the poison administered? We have evidence that it was not drunk out of the glass on the table, no trace of poison being found, and we can hardly suppose that Farrell would swallow a tablet at any one's bidding. Since there was an evident desire to make it appear a case of suicide, we should expect to find traces of poison in the glass; it would have made it appear so much more like suicide. But we are denying that it was suicide, so we are forced to the conclusion that some one was present with Farrell in the office, and also that the somebody ought to have allowed traces of the poison to remain in the glass. That innocent tumbler is a fact we must not lose sight of. You see, Mr. Delverton, I am not working along quite the same line as the original investigation took."
"No; and I am very interested. Still, I think a man might take a tablet were it offered by one he looked upon as a friend. It might be for headache."
"Did Mr. Farrell suffer from headaches?" Quarles inquired.
"Not that I am aware of. I am only putting a supposititious case."
"Ah, but we are bound to stick to what we know, or we shall find ourselves in difficulties," the professor returned. "Now, I understand that when you left the office that evening only two of the clerks were there, and they left the office together about ten minutes afterwards. The junior clerk we may dismiss from our minds, but Kellner merits some attention. It appears that his subsequent movements that evening are accounted for; still, it is a fact that he directly profited by Mr. Farrell's death. Shortly afterwards he became a partner in the firm."
"He had no reason at the time to suppose he would be a partner," said
Delverton.
"And would not have become one but for Farrell's death, I take it?"
"He might. It is really impossible to say. Left alone, I took in Kellner because he was the most competent man I knew. I may add that I have not regretted it."
"Had the detective who had the case in hand known that Kellner was to become a partner, he would undoubtedly have given him more attention," said Quarles. "He does not seem to have discovered that Kellner was in financial straits at the time."
"Was he?" said Delverton.
"I have found that it was so," I answered.
"I am surprised to hear it; but, after all, a clerk's financial difficulties—" And he laughed as a man will who always thinks in thousands.
"We come to another person who profited by Farrell's death, Dr. Morrison," said Quarles. "He married Miss Lester not long afterwards. It is known that he was friendly, or apparently friendly, with his rival, for such Farrell was, although he may not have been aware of the fact; and, curiously enough, Morrison called at the office in Austin Friars on the fatal day, and wanted to see Farrell an hour or so after he had left."
"Yes; I thought it was curious at the time."
"He was able to account for his subsequent doings that day," Quarles went on; "so it seems impossible that he could have been the person Farrell brought back to the office that night. I think we must say positively he was not. At the same time we must not overlook the fact that in his case there was a motive for the crime. Forgetting for a moment our conclusion that some one must have been in the office with Farrell in order to make the death appear like suicide, we ask whether in any way it was possible for Morrison to administer poison to Farrell. Supposing Farrell had met Morrison immediately upon leaving the office, could the doctor possibly have given him poison in such a manner that it would not take effect for hours after?"
"Stood him a glass of wine somewhere, you mean?"
"Or induced him to swallow a tablet," said Quarles.
"It is really a new idea," said our host.
"It is a possibility, of course," Quarles answered; "but not a very likely one, I fancy. It might account for the tumbler. Farrell might have felt ill and drunk some plain water, but why was he in the office at all? I find the whole crux of the affair in that question. Why should he come back when he had left for the day?"
"Then you are inclined to exonerate Morrison?"
"On the evidence, yes."
"You speak with some reservation, Mr. Quarles."
"I want to bring the whole argument into focus, as it were," the professor went on. "It was a settlement day on the Stock Exchange. I believe a point was made three years ago that it was curious no one had seen Farrell return, since many people who knew him would be about Austin Friars late that night. This does not seem to me much of an argument. If he returned between nine and ten he might easily escape notice. What does seem to me curious is that he should choose such a day to leave the office early, and tell a lie about it into the bargain. He said he had an appointment with Miss Lester, and we know he had not."
"Ought we not to say that we know she says he had not?" Delverton corrected. "I do not wish to be captious, but—"
"You are quite right," said Quarles; "we must be precise. You knew Miss
Lester, of course?"
"I did not see her until after Farrell's death, then I saw her several times. She seemed rather a charming person."
"You have not seen her since her marriage?"
"No."
"I saw her the other day," said Quarles, "and I quite endorse your opinion. She is charming, and I do not think she is the kind of woman to tell a deliberate falsehood. If Farrell had had an appointment with her I think she would have said so."
"I am making no accusation against her," was the answer. "I was only sticking to the actual evidence."
"And that does not tell us where Farrell went that day," said Quarles. "It seems strange that he did not meet any of the scores of people who knew him as he left the office that afternoon."
"Undoubtedly he did meet many."
"They didn't come forward to say they had seen him."
"I can see no reason why they should do so. There was no question of fixing the time he left. I was able to give definite information on that point."
"Well, we seem to have used up our facts," said Quarles, "and are forced to theorize."
Delverton smiled.
"You must not jump to the conclusion that I have failed," said the professor quickly. "I did not promise to tell you the name of the murderer to-night. Let me theorize for a few moments. You told me you believed that Farrell's tragic end had hastened your brother's death. Did your brother chance to come to the office that day?"
"No."
"Perhaps he came that night after you had left. I suppose you cannot bring evidence that he did not?"
"No; but—"
"Or it might have been with him that Farrell had an appointment that day, which was connected with some affair you were not intended to know anything about. That would account for his telling you a lie."
"I assure you—"
"Let me follow out my idea to the end," said Quarles, leaning over the table, and emphasizing his words by patting the cloth with his open hand. "Three years ago things were rather bad on the Stock Exchange, one or two men in the House were hammered, and several respected firms were shaky. Now supposing Farrell had been playing with the firm's money unknown to his partners, or perchance unknown only to one of them—yourself. Your brother may have—"
"Really, Mr. Quarles, you are getting absurd."
"I was going to say—"
"Oh, please, let me stop you before you say anything more foolish," said
Delverton. "At that time my brother was very ill and as weak as a rat.
How could he have administered poison to Farrell?"
"It requires no strength to administer poison, only subtlety," said Quarles. "A glass of wine, perhaps by your brother's bedside, and the thing would be accomplished. Or there is another alternative. Your brother may have been playing with the firm's credit, and Farrell may have found him out."
"Any other alternative, Mr. Quarles? Your fertile brain must hold others."
"Yes, one more, and two opinions which lead up to it," was the quick reply.
Delverton laughed.
"It is not so absurd as the others, I trust."
"The two opinions may lead you to change your ideas concerning this mystery. First, I believe Kellner was made a partner because he knew too much."
"I am inclined to think the discussion of a glass of my best port will be more profitable than these speculations," said our host with a smile, and he took up the cradle which the servant had placed beside him. "I offered you a glass in the office the other day, but it was not such good wine as this."
"And I was shocked at the idea of port in the middle of the morning," said Quarles.
"But not now, eh?" And Delverton filled our glasses and his own.
"Of course not. My second belief is that Farrell did not leave the office at all that day. We have only your word for it, you know."
"Shall we drink to your clearer judgment?" said Delverton.
I had raised my glass when Quarles cried out and tossed a spoon across the table at me.
"So you don't drink, Mr. Quarles," said Delverton, putting down his emptied glass.
"Not this vintage. It is too strong for me, and also for my friend
Wigan."
"Your judgment of a vintage leaves something to be desired. That glass of port has made me curious to hear the other alternative."
"I think it was you who had been playing with the firm's money, and your nephew found you out," said Quarles very deliberately. "That Stock Exchange settlement was a crisis for you. I think you induced Farrell to drink a glass of port with you, which was so doctored that he soon fell into a sleep from which he never woke. Perchance you smiled at his drowsiness, and suggested he should have half an hour's sleep in his room. You would look after things in the meanwhile. You did so, and when a clerk came in to say Dr. Morrison had called, you said Mr. Farrell had left for the day. You took care to wash the wine glass, but it seemed a good point to you to leave a tumbler with a little water in it on the table. You did not leave the office until you knew that the last of the clerks was ready to leave, and I imagine you waited somewhere in Austin Friars to see them safely off the premises. You had no doubt that a verdict of suicide would be returned. Later you were surprised to find that your clerk, Kellner, knew of your money difficulties, and to silence him he was taken into partnership. Whether the firm of Delverton Brothers is running straight now I have no means of knowing, nor can I say whether Mr. Kellner has any suspicion that the death of Mr. Farrell was more opportune than natural. You are the kind of man who is much impressed by his own cleverness, and when you met me in Devonshire it occurred to you to throw down a challenge, to pit your wits against mine. I suspected you then, for you overdid certain things, and a sinister intention had entered into your head. You confessed yourself charmed with Miss Lester, yet your whole attitude suggested that you believed Dr. Morrison guilty of murder. You became something more than an ordinary criminal who takes life to save himself from the consequence of his actions, you crossed the line and became devilish. Mrs. Morrison believes you would have asked her to marry you almost directly after Farrell's death had she not very plainly shown you her loathing of such a union. So you planned to be revenged when you threw down the challenge to me, and having failed, you now attempt to be wholesale in your destruction."
"I end by cheating you," said Delverton.
"Not me, but the hangman. I will warn your butler that the port is poisoned, and tell him to telephone for the doctor."
"You can go to the devil," said Delverton.
He died that night, and the following day the Delverton mystery filled columns of the papers. It was a dull season, and the press made the most of it. It is only right to say that Kellner was not generally believed to have known that Farrell had been done to death by his uncle. Quarles believes he was absolutely innocent in this respect. I am doubtful on the point, I admit.