Martin Edwards - The Terror

Hallick went to bed a very tired man that night, fully expecting to be called by telephone, but nothing happened. He ’phoned Monkshall before he left his house and Dobie reported ‘All is well.’ He had not been to bed that night, and nothing untoward had occurred. There was neither sound or sight of the ghostly visitor.

‘Ghosts!’ scoffed Hallick. ‘Did you expect to see one?’

‘Well,’ said Dobie’s half-apologetic voice, ‘I am really beginning to believe there is something here that isn’t quite natural.’

‘There is nothing anywhere that is not natural, sergeant,’ said Hallick sharply.

There was another case in which he was engaged, and he spent two unprofitable hours interviewing a particularly stupid servant girl concerning the mysterious disappearance of a large quantity of jewellery. It was nearly noon when he got back to his office and his clerk greeted him with a piece of unexpected information.

‘Mr Goodman is waiting to see you, sir. I put him in the reception-room.’

‘Goodman?’ Hallick frowned. At the moment he could not recall the name. ‘Oh, yes, from Monkshall? What does he want?’

‘He said he wished to see you. He was quite willing to wait.’

‘Bring him in,’ said Hallick.

Mr Goodman came into the tidy office a rather timid and diffident man.

‘I quite expected you to throw me out for I realise how busy you are, inspector,’ he said, putting down his hat and umbrella very carefully; ‘but as I had some business in town I thought I’d come along and see you.’

‘I am very glad to see you, Mr Goodman.’ Hallick placed a chair for him. ‘Are you coming to enlarge on your theories?’

Goodman smiled.

‘I think I told you before I had no theories. I am terribly worried about Miss Redmayne, though.’ He hesitated. ‘You cross-examined her. She was distressed about it.’ He paused a little helplessly, but Hallick did not help him. ‘I think I told you that I am—fond of Mary Redmayne. I would do anything to clear up this matter so that you would see, what I am sure is a fact, that her father had nothing whatever to do with this terrible affair.’

‘I never said he had,’ interrupted Hallick.

Mr Goodman nodded.

‘That I realise. But I am not as foolish as, perhaps, I appear to be; I know that he is under suspicion. In fact, I imagine that everybody in the house, including myself, must of necessity be suspected.’

Again he waited and again Hallick was wilfully silent. He was wondering what was coming next.

‘I am a fairly wealthy man,’ Goodman went on at last. He gave the impression that it required a desperate effort on his part to put his proposition into words. ‘And I would be quite willing to spend a very considerable sum, not necessarily to help the police, but to clear Redmayne from all suspicion. I don’t understand the methods of Scotland Yard and I feel I needn’t tell you this’—he smiled—‘and probably I am exposing my ignorance with every word I utter. But what I came to see you about is this—is it possible for me to engage a Scotland Yard detective?’

Hallick shook his head.

‘If you mean in the same way as you engage a private detective—no,’ he said. Goodman’s face fell.

‘That’s a pity. I had heard so much from Mrs Elvery—a very loquacious and trying lady, but with an extraordinary knowledge of—er—criminality, that there is a gentleman at Scotland Yard who would have been of the greatest assistance to me—Inspector Bradley.’

Hallick laughed.

‘Inspector Bradley is at the moment abroad,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ replied Mr Goodman, getting glum. ‘That is a great pity. Mrs Elvery says—’

‘I am afraid she says a great deal that is not very helpful,’ said Hallick good-humouredly. ‘No, Mr Goodman, it is impossible to oblige you and I am afraid you will have to leave the matter in our hands. I don’t think you will be a loser by that. We have no other desire than to get the truth. We are just as anxious to clear any person who is wrongfully suspected as we are to convict any person who comes under suspicion and who justifies that suspicion.’

That should have finished the matter, but Mr Goodman sat on looking very embarrassed.

‘It is a thousand pities,’ he said at last. ‘Mr Bradley is abroad? So I shan’t be able even to satisfy my curiosity. You see, Mr Hallick, the lady in question was talking so much about this superman—I suppose he is clever?’

‘Very,’ said Hallick. ‘One of the ablest men we have had at the Yard.’

‘Ah.’ Goodman nodded. ‘That makes my disappointment a little more keen. I would have liked to have seen what he looked like. When one hears so much about a person—’

Hallick looked at him for a second, then turning his back upon the visitor he scanned the wall where were hanging three framed portrait groups. One of these he lifted down from the hook and laid on the table. It was a conventional group of about thirty men sitting or standing in three rows and beneath were the words ‘H.Q. Staff.’

‘I can satisfy your curiosity,’ he said. ‘The fourth man on the left from the commissioner who is seated in the centre is Inspector Bradley.’

Mr Goodman adjusted his glasses and looked. He saw a large, florid-looking man of fifty, heavy-featured, heavily built. The last person in the group he would have picked out.

‘That’s Bradley; he isn’t much to look at, is he?’ smiled Hallick.

‘He is the livest wire in this department.’ Goodman stared at the photograph rather nervously, and then he smiled.

‘That’s very good of you, Mr Hallick,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t look like a detective, but then no detective ever does. That is the peculiar thing about them. They look rather—er—’

‘A commonplace lot, eh?’ said Hallick, his eyes twinkling. ‘So they are.’

He hung up the portrait on the wall.

‘Don’t bother about Miss Redmayne,’ he said, ‘and for heaven’s sake don’t think that the employment of a detective, private or public, on her behalf will be of the slightest use to her or her father. Innocent people have nothing to fear. Guilty people have a great deal. You have known Colonel Redmayne for a long time, I think?’

‘All my life.’

‘You know about his past?’

The old tea merchant hesitated.

‘Yes, I think I know,’ he said quietly. ‘There were one or two incidents which were a little discreditable, were there not? He told me himself. He drinks a great deal too much, which is unfortunate. I think he was drinking more heavily at the time these unfortunate incidents occurred.’

He picked up his hat and umbrella, took out his pipe with a mechanical gesture, looked at it, rubbed the bowl, and replaced it hastily.

‘You can smoke, Mr Goodman, we shan’t hang you for it,’ chuckled Hallick.

He himself walked through the long corridor and down the stairs to the entrance hall with his visitor, and saw him off the premises. He hoped and believed that he had sent Goodman away feeling a little happier, and his hope was not without reason.

IT was four o’clock when Goodman reached the little station which is some four miles distant from Monkshall, and, declining the offer of the solitary fly, started to walk across to the village. He had gone a mile when he heard the whir of a motor behind him. He did not attempt to turn his head, and was surprised when he heard the car slacken speed and a voice hailing him. It was Ferdie Fane who sat at the wheel.

‘Hop in, brother. Why waste your own shoe leather when somebody else’s rubber tyres are available?’

The face was flushed and the eyes behind the horn-rimmed spectacles glistened. Mr Goodman feared the worst.