Miles Burton - Death in the Tunnel (Miles Burton) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

“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.

Neither Torrance nor his assistant were acquainted with this man Yates. The latter was of the opinion that he had called upon a personal matter, since Sir Wilfred had made no subsequent allusion to his visitor.

Asked if he had noticed anything unusual in Sir Wilfred’s manner during the day, the assistant secretary replied that he had not. He had seemed much the same as usual, except for one trifling incident. At about a quarter to five he had ordered a taxi to be sent for, and had told the man to drive him to Cannon Street Station.

“A taxi!” exclaimed Torrance, who obviously heard this for the first time. “I never knew him do that before. He wasn’t ill, or anything? You’re sure of that?”

“There didn’t seem to me to be anything the matter with him,” replied the assistant secretary. “And I’ve known him, man and boy, for the last forty years and more.”

“That’s peculiar,” said Torrance. “As you know, inspector, it’s only a few hundred yards from here to Cannon Street. Sir Wilfred always walked it, whatever the weather was like. I’ve never known him take a taxi before. It’s most unlike him. And now, perhaps, you’d like to come and see his room?”

Arnold agreed, and they went along the passage to a door which Torrance opened with a key. “It’s always kept locked,” he explained. “Sir Wilfred had one key, Mr. Richard another, and I have the third. The only person who has been in here since Sir Wilfred left yesterday afternoon is myself. I came in this morning to see if he had left any message for me. But, finding there was none, I touched nothing, and came out at once. That was before I heard of Sir Wilfred’s death.”

“How did the news reach you, Mr. Torrance?” Arnold asked.

“Miss Olivia Saxonby telephoned to the office about ten o’clock this morning. She said that her uncle had been found shot in the train. Of course, I asked her for particulars, but she said that she knew no more, but from what she had heard she gathered that he had committed suicide.”

Arnold made no comment upon this, but he wondered what grounds Miss Olivia could have had for her opinion, as early as ten o’clock that morning. Then he remembered that Sir Wilfred’s car had been waiting for him at Stourford Station. No doubt the chauffeur had gleaned such scraps of information as were available, and had carried them to Mavis Court.

He turned his attention to the room, thickly carpeted and luxuriously furnished. The most conspicuous feature was a heavy mahogany table, upon which stood a couple of letter trays, holding a few sheets of correspondence. Beside the table was a waste-paper basket, holding a few fragments of torn letters.

“I wonder if you would mind looking for the letter from Mrs. Wardour, Mr. Torrance?” said Arnold.

Torrance ran through the trays, then turned his attention to the waste-paper basket. “I can’t see any signs of it, or of the envelope, for that matter,” he reported at last. “I dare say Sir Wilfred put it in his pocket and took it home with him. The rest of this stuff is of no importance, but perhaps you’d like to look through it?”