John Rhode - Invisible Weapons

As a direct result of Yateley’s telephone call, Inspector Waghorn, of the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police, found himself in the superintendent’s room at Adderminster Police Station just before six o’clock that afternoon.

Inspector Waghorn, popularly known at the Yard as Jimmy, was a Hendon graduate who had already gained the approval of his somewhat exacting superior, Superintendent Hanslet. It was Hanslet who had suggested Jimmy as the fitting person to answer the call from the Adderminster Police.

‘Go down and see what you can make of it,’ he had said. ‘If it’s all plain sailing, you know well enough what to do by this time. If it isn’t you can get on to me and I’ll come down and bear a hand. Away you go.’

Yateley gave Jimmy a detailed account of what had happened.

‘Those are the facts,’ he concluded. ‘Now, I’m going to be perfectly frank with you, inspector. We didn’t call in the Yard because we wanted any help in tracing the criminal.’

Jimmy smiled. ‘That’s what the CID is usually called upon to do, sir,’ he replied.

‘Yes, I know. But now it’s rather different. In this case, there isn’t the slightest doubt as to the identity of the criminal. The only problem—and that’s a very minor one—is precisely how he did it. To put it crudely, we’ve only sent for you to wash our dirty linen for us.’

‘I appreciate your meaning, sir,’ replied Jimmy solemnly. ‘But perhaps you would be good enough to tell me exactly what you want me to do?’

‘I should have thought you would have guessed that. We don’t want to arrest Dr Thornborough off our own bats, so to speak. He’s made himself very popular while he’s been here, and if we were to take action without calling in the Yard, we should arouse local feeling against us. Whereas if the Yard applies for a warrant, the responsibility can’t be thrown upon our shoulders.’

‘I see, sir,’ Jimmy murmured respectfully. ‘There’s no doubt about Dr Thornborough’s guilt, I suppose?’

‘There’s no room for the slightest particle of doubt!’ Yateley exclaimed. ‘Take the motive, to begin with. Mr Fransham was a total stranger to Adderminster. By that I mean, that although he had visited his nephew and niece several times previously, they were the only people in the town he knew. Nobody else in Adderminster could have had the vestige of a motive for murdering him.

‘Now, had the doctor a motive for murdering him? Most emphatically he had. I happen to know that although he’s got a pretty good practice here as Dr Dorrington’s partner, he’s been living a bit beyond his means. Neither he nor his wife have any money of their own. He built that house of his with the help of a Building Society, and he buys his cars on the hire purchase system. I won’t say that he’s in actual financial difficulties, but I do know that the tradesmen who supply him sometimes have to wait a bit for their money.

‘There’s no doubt that Mr Fransham was a rich man. For one thing he’s just bought a new car which can’t have cost less than a thousand pounds. For another he lives in Cheveley Street, which, as you know better than I do, isn’t exactly an impoverished neighbourhood. Mr Fransham was Mrs Thornborough’s uncle, and there seems very little doubt that she’ll inherit his money. In fact, the motive’s so adequate that it’s almost enough to hang the doctor by itself.’

Jimmy made no comment upon this. ‘You told me just now, sir, that you considered the doctor’s statement unsatisfactory,’ he remarked.

‘I did, and that was the mildest word I could think of. It was definitely misleading. To begin with, he pretended that Mr Fransham’s visit was a complete surprise to him. He maintained this even to his wife, for Linton happened to overhear their conversation. But Mr Fransham told at least two people, Mrs Thornborough and his chauffeur Coates, that the doctor had written to him asking him to drive down to lunch today.

‘As it happens this is one of the very rare cases in which luck plays up on the side of the policeman. By a sheer fluke Linton was sent up to interview the doctor, and was in the house at the very moment the crime was committed. If he hadn’t been there the doctor would have had a chance of removing the most incriminating piece of evidence. That is the very letter of invitation, which Mr Fransham happened to have in his pocket. Here it is, and here is a sample of the doctor’s notepaper which I tricked him into giving me.’

Jimmy compared the two. ‘They seem to me exactly similar,’ he said.

‘Of course they are. There’s not a shadow of doubt about that. You see that the letter is dated yesterday. If it had been posted here yesterday evening, it would have reached London by the first post this morning, and, according to Coates’ statement it was by that post that Mr Fransham received it. Now, what’s your opinion of the typing?’

‘Pretty accurate, sir,’ Jimmy replied. ‘I’m not an expert, but I should guess that it had been typed on one of the smaller portable machines.’

‘Oh, that’s your opinion, is it?’ said Yateley grimly. ‘That’s another nail in the coffin. I happened to notice a Smith Premier portable in the doctor’s consulting-room. Now then, have a look at this.’

He picked up a printed form and threw it across to Jimmy.

‘That’s a medical certificate excusing one of my men from duty,’ he said. ‘It’s signed by Dr Thornborough. Have a look at the signature and compare it with the one on the letter.’

Jimmy did so. The certificate was signed ‘Cyril J. Thornborough, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.’ The writing of the Christian name corresponded very strikingly with the signature of the letter.

‘So much for the doctor’s pretence that his uncle’s visit was unexpected,’ said Yateley. ‘Now we come to another point which also proves the doctor to be a liar. He returned to his house at ten minutes past one or thereabouts. In his statement to me he said that as he turned in at his drive gate, he saw a certain Alfie Prince crossing the road some yards in front of him. The doctor’s house is about three-quarters of a mile from the centre of the town in an easterly direction.

‘Now this Alfie Prince is one of the thorns in our flesh. He can always earn a decent wage by getting work on one of the farms round about. Normally he does so and is perfectly well-behaved, though he won’t stay more than a few weeks in the same place. But every now and then he gets fits of being an intolerable nuisance. He goes round to people’s houses asking for threepence to buy half a pint, or for a handful of cigarettes, or anything that comes into his head. If he gets it, he says “Thank you” very politely. If he doesn’t he uses bad language and refuses to go away.

‘He seems to be in that mood just now, for Sergeant Cload had a complaint about him this morning. In fact it was because of this complaint that Linton was sent up to the doctor’s house. Cload, who knows Alfie better than I do, had come to the conclusion that he’s not all there. He sent Linton to see the doctor about it and ask him to have a talk with Alfie.

‘Now, what I want you to understand is this. This morning’s complaint came from Colonel Exbury, who lives three miles out of the town in a westerly direction. He rang up directly after he had got rid of Alfie, and the call was received here at a quarter to one. If, then, Alfie was seen in the vicinity of the doctor’s house at ten minutes past one, he must have covered three and three-quarter miles in twenty-five minutes. I may as well explain that there is no bus route between the two points and that Alfie has never been known to ride a bicycle.’