John Rhode - Invisible Weapons

‘Thank you, mam,’ Linton replied. ‘But I’ve got a message from the sergeant for the doctor.’

‘Then you’d better wait for him in the consulting-room. Take Linton in there, will you, Lucy, and see that he has a glass of beer while he’s waiting.’

The parlourmaid showed Linton into the consulting-room and a few moments later appeared with a glass and a jug on a tray. ‘Can’t stop and share it with you, as I’m busy,’ she said as she frisked out again. In her haste she omitted to shut the door properly and it remained slightly ajar.

The consulting-room lay at the back of the house, and its window, which was open, commanded a view of the kitchen garden and of the garage at the end of it. Linton noticed that the garage was empty and that its doors were propped back. He poured himself out a glass of beer, sampled it and then sat down.

The door being ajar he could hear sounds of activity within the house. From the dining-room came a subdued clatter of plates and cutlery. Lucy was obviously laying the table for lunch. The kitchen premises were divided from the rest of the house by a baize door, impervious to sound or smell. The notes of a piano, strummed softly but ably, reached Linton from the drawing-room. And then as he took a second draught of beer the soft purr of an approaching car reached his ears. That must be the doctor, of course.

The car entered the drive and stopped outside the front door. Linton wiped his lips and stood up ready to greet Dr Thornborough. But, contrary to his expectations, he did not hear the front door open. An instant later, an electric bell rang insistently somewhere in the back premises.

The clattering in the dining-room came to an immediate stop. Linton heard Lucy hasten with tripping steps to the front door and open it. Next a deep voice which Linton did not recognise, and a heavy step in the hall. A visitor, obviously. Whoever it was, Lucy must have shown him into the drawing-room, for the piano stopped abruptly. Before the drawing-room door closed again, Linton heard Mrs Thornborough’s voice raised in a tone of complete amazement. It seemed, then, that the visitor must be unexpected.

A minute later Linton heard the sound of a car being driven down the carriage way beside the house towards the garage. Was it the doctor’s car this time? No, it wasn’t. As soon as it came in sight Linton saw that. It was a very smart-looking Armstrong-Siddeley limousine, driven by an elderly and rather surly-looking chauffeur. It came to rest inside the garage. The chauffeur dismounted, and walked slowly round it. Then he produced a packet of cigarettes from an inside pocket, chose one and lighted it. Having thrown away the match, he propped himself negligently against the garage door-post.

The drawing-room door opened again and a heavy footstep crossed the hall. Linton heard the sound of another door being opened. It was shut immediately and the click of a lock followed. Somebody left the drawing-room and hurried into the dining-room. This must be Mrs Thornborough, for Linton recognised her voice as she gave instructions to Lucy. Something about it being very awkward. Cook should be asked to hold back lunch for ten minutes. And of course, another place must be laid. Oh yes, and Coates. He must be asked in to have his lunch in the kitchen. Better tell cook about it at once.

Linton heard her go upstairs slowly, step by step, as though upon some errand she disliked. The baize door opened and shut as Lucy went into the kitchen to break the news to cook. From somewhere on the ground floor the faint but unmistakable sound of a plug being pulled.

Followed a silence of a couple of minutes. Then an indeterminate and not very distinct sound, something between a thud and a crash. Linton supposed that cook, flustered by the arrival of this unexpected guest, had dropped something in the kitchen. He took out his watch and looked at it. Seven minutes past one. Something must have detained the doctor, for, as Linton knew, he always tried to get home by one o’clock.

A further silence of two or three minutes, then the sound of Mrs Thornborough coming downstairs again. She went into the drawing-room, leaving the door open behind her.

Then again Linton heard the sound of an approaching car. There was no doubt about it this time. It came straight in and drove rapidly down the carriage-way. Linton recognised the doctor’s car with the doctor himself at the wheel. The car pulled up suddenly just short of the garage, and Dr Thornborough got out. Again Linton looked at his watch, to find that the time was now twelve minutes past one.

The surly-faced chauffeur threw away his cigarette and touched his cap. Dr Thornborough seemed to question him eagerly, to which he gave some replies. Linton could hear the sound of their voices but not what they said. Dr Thornborough hurried towards the house, which he entered by the garden door beside the consulting-room.

At the sound of this door being opened, Mrs Thornborough ran out of the drawing-room and met her husband in the hall just outside the consulting-room door. Linton could not help overhearing their conversation.

It was Mrs Thornborough who spoke first. ‘Oh, Cyril, Uncle Bob’s here!’ she exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me that he was coming?’

‘I know he’s here, for I’ve spoken to Coates in the garage,’ the doctor replied. ‘But how could I have told you that he was coming when I didn’t know myself?’

‘You didn’t know he was coming? But he had a letter from you this morning asking him to drive down to lunch today as you particularly wanted to see him.’

‘My dear Betty! One or both of you must be suffering from delusions. I haven’t written to him for weeks as you know very well. Besides, just now—’

‘I know. It’s absurdly thoughtless of you. I’m very much afraid that there’ll be ructions.’

‘Well, it can’t be helped. We shall have to make the best of it. Where is Uncle Bob, by the way?’

‘In the cloakroom, washing his hands. He’ll be out any minute now, for he’s been there quite a long time. Oh, and by the way, I almost forgot to tell you. Linton’s waiting in the consulting-room to see you. He’s got a message or something from the sergeant for you. You’ll have time to see him before lunch because I’ve asked cook to put it back a few minutes.’

The door of the consulting-room opened and Dr Thornborough walked in. He was tall and slight and looked younger than his age, which was thirty-five. His normally cheerful expression was obscured by a slight frown as he greeted the constable. ‘Well, Linton, what’s the matter?’ he inquired brusquely.

Linton started to explain the situation which had arisen regarding Alfie Prince. But before he had got very far, the doctor, whose attention was obviously elsewhere, interrupted him.

‘Alfie Prince? I saw him just now as I drove in at the gate. But look here. Excuse me a minute, there’s a good fellow. I must see …’ And he hurried out of the room, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Linton heard him go to the door of the cloakroom and rattle the handle. ‘Uncle Bob!’ he called. And then a second or two later, ‘Uncle Bob! Unlock the door, will you? It’s only me, Cyril. I want a word with you.’

Followed a pause in which every voice in the house seemed to be hushed: then Dr Thornborough battered on the door of the cloakroom with his fists. ‘Uncle Bob!’ he called once more.

Silence, broken only by the doctor’s footsteps crossing the hall. He re-entered the consulting-room, frowning more deeply than before. ‘I don’t like it, Linton,’ he exclaimed abruptly. ‘My uncle, Mr Fransham, is in the cloakroom, and I can’t get him to answer me.’

‘He’s been in there a good ten minutes or more, sir,’ Linton replied.