Alan Hunter: Gently to the Summit

‘What made you feel dizzy?’

‘I’ve got a bad head for heights…’

And then the worst, or what was so near it that the worst must be inferred: a transparent evasion of a guilt that screamed aloud. A damned-good grilling must get the rest of it, of that there was no question. The case was made. Henry Askham was the self-confessed murderer of Fleece.

But the strangest part of it was the lack of emotion that accompanied this frightful revelation. Nobody appeared very much concerned, not even the droop-figured culprit. Gently was looking mildly bored; Evans had a distant, meditative expression; Mrs Askham was scarcely listening; and Kincaid was gawping at Mrs Askham. Did nobody care any longer about self-confessed murderers, even when millionaire-apparents, sons, and voiders of capital charges? It seemed they didn’t. In fact, the atmosphere was wholly unaccountable. The C.C. felt like pinching himself to be assured that he didn’t dream…

Now Mrs Askham had stirred herself.

‘Then may I take it there will be no charge?’

That was the question. The C.C. found himself staring with open mouth at Gently. There had to be a charge, and yet… before Gently could speak, he knew it. It was part of the craziness he had stumbled into, the prevailing pattern of derangement.

‘I don’t think a charge will be necessary. But there is something I have to say to you.’

It was too much. He was reading them a lecture on the heinousness of false witness. Like two naughty children, they listened, the proud La Askham and her fiery son, the one with submissive and downcast eyes, the other with a look that was near admiration. After this, the C.C. gave up. There could be no more attempt at intelligent appraisal. It mattered little that the Yard man was about to release his cherished prisoner; that was purely a formality. Open the cells. Let them all go.

And Kincaid:

‘I feel greatly in your debt, Superintendent. Not only for clearing me of the charge. It goes much deeper than that.’

They were shaking hands; they all shook hands. It might have been an old chum’s reunion. Then Kincaid offered his arm to Mrs Askham, and Mrs Askham laid her gloved hand on it…

When Gently returned to the office he found the C.C. seated behind the desk; with a perceptible stiffness in his bearing and a resolute gleam in his eye. He pointed to the seat of interrogation, sniffed and angled his moustache.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a man can be told what’s going on in his own division?’

Gently sat, feeling for his pipe.

‘It’s a long story,’ he replied.

But it was simple too, for all stories were basically simple; the story of a rich man’s enticement of a poor man’s wife. Of the corrupting power of large possessions, of the cropping of dragon’s teeth, and the ultimate destruction of a guilty one when no man pursued him. Simple and moral, if morals still lingered in a well-explained world. Simple anyway, like truth. A dramatic testimony for five players.

‘Mrs Askham was very generous in filling in the minor detail.’

She had been; though wouldn’t ‘confessed’ have been the word that best described it? Deliberately, never glancing at Kincaid, in her low, steady voice, she had rehearsed without excusing every incident of that long-ago. A confession, yes, and more: a revelation of herself. A picture of the woman as she was, pitilessly drawn for Kincaid to see. His blind devotion had made her honest, she’d felt compelled to render account. At least she would tender a rigid integrity to his unconditioning acceptance.

‘She married Kincaid in the first place because she thought herself pregnant by Askham. They had had a brief affaire, very much a boss-employee relation. But after the marriage a change took place. Askham had taken a second look at her. He saw that her husband was deeply in love with her and it suggested that he’d thrown something away. He began to fall in love with her himself. Soon it was no longer enough for her to be his mistress. He grew jealous and possessive and wanted Paula entirely, he saw in Kincaid an interloper, a mere gesture to the proprieties.

‘Towards the end of nineteen-thirty-six the situation became more critical, since Paula was really pregnant this time and there were reasons why Kincaid could not have been the father. A divorce was out of the question; it would have had business repercussions for Askham; and he wouldn’t hear of an abortion even if that had been practicable. The only relief from the dilemma lay in the proposed Everest expedition, and this was languishing from lack of funds and want of an experienced leader. But Askham could provide it with both, and this he did, in strict secrecy. He did more. He suborned that leader in an effort to prevent Kincaid from ever returning. Fleece was serviceable, he was ambitious. It needed only a bribe to do the trick. The money was promised. Fleece agreed. Harry Askham had found a solution.

‘Paula was naturally not informed of this second and criminal part of the arrangement. She knew only that Askham had put up the money and had influenced Fleece to lead the party. The bribe was substantial. It enabled Fleece to set up business on his return. His wife remembers him receiving the money and being delighted with himself about it.

‘He was subtle, and from a professional standpoint one must admire the way he handled the job. He manoeuvred the assault, he worked his opening, and he brought back a story that was easy to believe in. It fitted Kincaid’s character neatly, for he was just the man to continue alone. And it was accepted; people questioned Fleece’s judgement, but his integrity went unchallenged. There remained a little matter of a lost climbing rope, but that passed unnoticed in the excitement of the moment.

‘When news of the tragedy reached England, Askham acted without delay. It was not to be supposed that Paula was greatly stricken with grief. By an apparent miracle, her troubles were over and she could be united to her affluent lover, so she let him carry her off to Wales, where they were married by special licence. From Wales she never stirred until after the birth of her son Henry, and then she moved in circles remote from all who knew her as Mrs Kincaid. She had always been a person of refinement. She took care now to adapt herself to her environment. Askham married her for love, but he never had cause to regret it.

‘Fleece returned and established his business and seemed content with his one bite at the cherry: in fact, with the guilt so evenly distributed, the prospect of blackmail was practically excluded. When Askham died the position was unaltered. Mrs Askham was his legitimate though harassed legatee. She had to fight for her rights. His brother Richard pressed her hard; but she won her case, and was safely installed in her millions.

‘Then the impossible happened. The grave gave up its dead. From ten thousand miles and a dim memory Kincaid came stalking into the Asterbury. He had changed; he was hard to recognize; his manner was eccentric: and distrait; but from the moment he began his story Fleece, at all events, had no more doubt. Kincaid alone could know those facts and to know them branded the man as Kincaid. It was hardly surprising that Fleece lost his head and started a suit to discredit the intruder.

‘He soon found it again, however; Fleece was a man with both eyes open. It may have been Kincaid’s anxiety to trace his wife that revealed to Fleece his great opportunity. I imagine he’d kept an eye on the Askhams. He knew just how vulnerable was Paula’s position. And Kincaid could recognize her, that was a fair gamble, though it was highly unlikely that she would put it to the test. It was a situation that was tailor-made for blackmail. Fleece went to Wales and stated his demands.