The 12.30 from Croydon (24 page)

Charles’s brain was now working keenly. It looked like a true bill after all. If so, the letter must be in Peter’s study. And if so again, he, Charles, was in danger. If he didn’t want arrest, trial, and what would inevitably follow trial, he must deal with this matter boldly.

‘And for ten thousand you would forget what you know? I dare say that forgetfulness would be worth ten thousand to the visitor, if only he knew he could buy it. Look here, Weatherup,’ he turned closer to the other and still further lowered his voice, ‘suppose I give you ten thousand, how do I know that you’ll keep faith? Answer that and the money’s yours.’

Weatherup seemed a little taken back by the direct question. ‘I can’t, Mr Charles,’ he said with some hesitation. ‘I can’t see that there’s any way in which you could be sure. I should give you my word, of course, but I don’t suppose that would satisfy you. I would like to meet your difficulty, but I don’t see how I can. Do you, sir?’

‘I should want to be guarded against two things,’ Charles went on. ‘First, I should want to be sure that when I had paid you the ten thousand you really would keep your mouth shut about what you saw. Second, I should want to be sure you wouldn’t come in a few weeks or months and want more money. Now, Weatherup, you’re a clever man: your action has just proved it. Surely it’s not beyond your power to devise a scheme which will satisfy us both?’

‘I’m afraid, sir, it’s a take-it-or-leave-it proposition for you. All the same I want to be reasonable. If you can suggest any way out of the difficulty, I’ll be glad to go into it. I’m really genuine in saying I don’t want more than the ten thousand, and that, as far as you are concerned, I’d disappear in America.’

‘You’re a wise man; you’re not going to try me too far. Well now, would something like this do? I’ve not thought it out: it’s only the rough idea. You’ve got a hold on me about those pills. I admit that because there’s nothing else I can do. Now if I pay you hush money about that and it can be established that I’ve paid you hush money about it, you definitely become an accessory after the fact. You see? There’s no way out for you. Now I can’t tell about you, because the essence of the whole affair is that I changed those bottles of pills. You can’t tell about me, because you’ve taken money to hush up a murder. Some scheme of that kind I’d agree to. You shouldn’t object to it. You’d get your ten thousand and it wouldn’t affect you unless you tried to act crookedly. Now I know you, Weatherup, and I don’t for one moment believe you’re contemplating acting crookedly. Therefore, as I say, I see no reason why you should object to it.’

‘But I’m entirely clear of it at present, Mr Charles. You’re asking me to give up my privileged position, so to speak, and run my head into a possible noose. The thing might come out by accident or through someone else. Surely, sir, you will see that we needn’t discuss that?’

‘You’re not clear of it at present: that’s where you’re making the mistake. All that about what you would say to the inspector is just a bit of blether. You’re not clear, and you know it. Without an agreement with me you can’t spend a penny of that money, and what good will it be to you then?’

‘I can spend all I want of it at any time.’

‘No, you can’t. Suppose you do and suppose we fall out and you give me away. I then give you away. The police go into your affairs. They soon find you’ve been spending more than you ever made out of butlering. They ask you where you got it. You tell them some yarn. They go into your reply: and that’s the end for you. No, my friend, you’re for it without a chance of escape if you begin to spend. Come now, Weatherup. You’ve got me over this, I admit. But I’m not going to have my life spoiled over it. I’ve thought it all out before this, and if there’s going to be trouble I’ll commit suicide. So there you have it. If you’ll act in a reasonable way, I’ll hand you over ten thousand pounds sterling. If you don’t, I admit you can make me commit suicide, but you’ll not get a farthing yourself.’

Weatherup, to Charles’s surprise, seemed impressed. He was evidently trying to assess the value of this argument. Charles hit again while the iron was warm.

‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll both think over the affair for a day or two. We must do so in any case, as I don’t happen to have ten thousand pounds in my pocket. Think over it and I’ll do the same. Let’s try and meet each other’s views. I’m always for compromise, as perhaps you know. We can have another meeting later and settle it. What do you say, Weatherup?’

‘That seems reasonable, sir. I agree except for one thing. Suppose this Inspector French comes to me in the meantime. If he asks me awkward questions I must know where I stand.’

‘Very well, I’ll tell you. If you meet my views about safeguards I’ll pay you the ten thousand. If you don’t, I won’t; and if you give me away I’ll commit suicide. So there you have it and you can take your choice.’

‘I understand your position. When can we meet again?’

Charles thought. ‘I can’t say off-hand. How can we communicate?’

‘Perhaps, sir, you could ring me up? You could give me some incidental message at the same time that I could pass on to the family.’

‘Very well, I’ll do so. By the way, don’t let us mention our names over the telephone. You be Jeffries and I’ll be Audinwood. That all right?’

‘Yes, sir. Good night, sir.’

Weatherup faded away like a shadow in the gloom of the trees and Charles pursued his way homewards, walking as an automaton, unconscious of his surroundings. This was a ghastly, an appalling blow! The house of cards he had been living in had crashed. He was now in infinitely worse case than before he began to plot for Andrew’s life. Then his business and position were threatened: now it was his life. If Weatherup were to give away that fatal piece of information, he, Charles, was as good as hanged. He sweated at the thought.

Would Weatherup give it away? Charles did not know. He realized that all that he had said to the man was the merest bluff. Weatherup could quite easily go with his story to the police and admit openly his fault for not going before. As he said, at the most he would get a few months, though he might well get off without any penalty. And it was true what he had said, that no reciprocal hold could be devised upon him. He would not be such a fool as to agree to leaving traces of his receipt of the money, and in no other way could Charles have any hold at all. In any case what would such a hold be worth? Nothing! As long as Charles’s life was at the butler’s mercy, nothing that he could have on Weatherup would weigh in the balances.

No, so far as Charles could look forward, he would be in the man’s power for the remainder of his life. Always he would be in fear that either deliberately or by accident the truth would be made known. Always he would be open to fresh demands for money, which he dared not refuse. It looked as if Weatherup really did mean to clear out of the country with his ten thousand, but suppose there was another pinch when that was spent? Would he not come back then for more? Of course he would!

All the same, Charles began to consider schemes for raising ten thousand pounds in notes of small value. He had already two thousand in the house, the balance of what he had got from the moneylenders on his recent visit to Town. Weatherup would have to take that to go on with. The man seemed not unreasonable. He would understand that some months must elapse before he could get the larger sum.

As in a dream Charles let himself into his house, had a couple of stiff pegs and went up to bed. But not to sleep. It was only as he settled down in the silence that the true horror of his position swept over him. His life, and more than his life, at the mercy of a man of whom he had always been distrustful! Could he face it? Could he really settle down to live his life with this horror hanging over him? Would he not go mad? Wouldn’t death itself be easier?

He tried to rally himself. It was certainly true, on the other hand, that every day which passed would make it more difficult for Weatherup to inform. Suppose by lavish payments the disclosure was staved off for a year. How could the man then go to the police? Would he have the slightest chance of escaping conviction as an accessory?

Charles thought so. He had only to go and express penitence, as he had himself suggested, to get off with a nominal penalty. He could easily explain that he had intended to report before, but had weakly put it off in the hope that the information would come out through some other channel. Unless, of course, the taking of the bribe could be proved. That would fix him all right.

In any case, whatever might or might not happen to Weatherup, there would be no doubt about Charles’s own end. He turned actually sick with dread as he pictured it…

Then another idea flashed into his mind and he lay sweating in sheer horror. He had forgotten that Weatherup drank!

The man didn’t often exceed, but every now and then he had a break and got drunk: not helplessly drunk, but what might be called jolly. Just drunk enough to loosen his tongue!

Here was another side to the affair. No matter what Weatherup agreed to; no matter how he were tied up; could there be any safety? No matter what his intentions might be, might he not give the thing away when tipsy?

For this there was no way out,
but the one.
From the first moment of Weatherup’s revelation that way had been lurking deep down in Charles’s mind, though he had earnestly tried to banish it. Now if he were to be safe, Charles must once again take that desperate remedy. Once again it was his own life or another’s. Before, when he had taken that remedy, it had been his life only very indirectly. There was no such indirectness this time. Charles saw looming terribly clear before him that hideous shed, that noose, that square outline on the floor. It was that, and all the horrors that led up to it, or it was Weatherup’s life. Which was he going to face?

Then he thought of the letter! Weatherup had foreseen that if a man commits murder at one time he may do it again. Weatherup had provided against that.

Charles settled down to consider this matter of the letter. Suppose Weatherup had really written it as he had said, and the whole story was not merely a bluff. Suppose Peter really had the letter, what then? Was there no way out of the difficulty?

Charles thought there might be. He thought that if the major difficulty of the removal of Weatherup could be overcome, he might be able to surmount this also. As a matter of fact the letter – if it existed – must be dealt with in any case. Suppose Weatherup were to be knocked down in the street and killed. Would not Peter then open the letter? And if so, where would he, Charles, be?

But the more Charles thought about the letter, the less inclined he was to believe in its existence. It would be a double-edged weapon. If by some accident it were unintentionally opened – and how easily such a thing might occur – Weatherup’s goose was cooked. The whole thing would come out, not only what the man had seen, but that he had been deliberately keeping it secret. Charles rather doubted that he would have taken such a risk.

If, then, Weatherup had been bluffing, it made his removal easier. But even if he were not, and the letter was there, Charles thought he could deal with it.

But could he deal with Weatherup himself? For hours he lay awake thinking, and gradually a scheme formed itself in his mind. It was a simple scheme, easier to work than that of the poisoned pill, possibly not quite so watertight. But Charles had no choice. Inaction or delay would be alike fatal. Better to take the risk while he could, and fail – when he would turn to suicide – than to do nothing and live, if he did live, in hell.

Before Charles fell asleep Weatherup’s fate was sealed.

When Charles awoke next morning, the main outlines of his plan were settled. Details had still to be worked out, but these would be easy. The only danger now was that Weatherup might speak before he was able to carry it out. But he did not think Weatherup would. Ten thousand pounds was a tremendous sum to a man of the butler’s class.

In considering this pressing danger Charles had almost lost sight of that other sword which was hanging over his head: the question of Peter being suspected. But in that he could do nothing. Peter would be all right unless Weatherup told what he saw. Was Weatherup, Charles wondered, blackmailing Peter also? He might well be. Could this, in fact, be the reason why Weatherup had been kept on at The Moat?

Charles wondered if he could do nothing in the matter of Peter also.

Suddenly he marvelled at his denseness. Of course he could! He could make Peter as safe as he was himself. And how? Why, in the very same way! Peter’s danger came from the same source as his own. The proof that Peter was alone with Andrew in the dining-room on the night before the old man’s death and during that time was handling the bottle of pills, depended on Weatherup’s testimony. If Weatherup didn’t give that testimony, no one would know of the incident. Weatherup simply must not be allowed to give it.

To Charles with his fatal gift of imagination it now began to seem a sacred duty to save Peter by removing Weatherup. At worst the affair didn’t now bear the same dreadful stigma of evil. Once again, so Charles told himself, it was not a choice between evil and good, but between two evils. It was not life against life, but two lives to one. And of two evils must not one always choose the less?

That day in the office he settled down to complete the working out of the details of his new plan as he would have settled down to work out the wiring of an electromotor. He took each problem in rotation, thought out a solution, and checked up the result. When he had finished he was satisfied. If he were careful, the thing would be as safe as the other.

The first thing was to get Peter away from home for a night: Peter’s presence might hamper his operations. This was perhaps the most difficult part of the whole affair. Charles must not appear in it. Peter had grown very suspicious and he must not be allowed to suspect.

By lunch time Charles had not settled exactly how this was to be done, though the remainder of the plan was cut and dry. And then occurred a very astonishing coincidence, a coincidence so remarkable that had Charles still been doubtful as to his course, it would certainly have forced his hand.