The 12.30 from Croydon (25 page)

As after lunch he was walking along High Street, intending to pay a couple of calls before returning to the office, he met Peter hurrying in the direction of the station.

‘Just running for my train,’ Peter explained, halting for a second. ‘I’m going to Town for the night.’ He glanced round and sank his voice. ‘To tell the truth I can’t stand this nightmare I’m living in. I want to see if I’ll be stopped or followed.’

Charles could scarcely believe his good fortune. He must not, however, overdo his approval. ‘It’s not a bad idea, Peter,’ he admitted. ‘I’ll bet your fears are groundless, but this scheme of yours will certainly put them to the test. Yes, it’s a good idea. When will you be back?’

‘Oh, to-morrow. I don’t really want to go to Town. It’s only for a test.’

Charles nodded. ‘A good idea. Well, you’re in a hurry. Cheerio and best luck.’

Only that Charles, with the queer streak of superstition so often exhibited by evil-doers, did not wish to be blasphemous, he would have said that here was a heaven-sent opportunity. It was an opportunity at all events which he dared not miss. He would put his plans into operation that night.

The only thing required to do so was to arrange the necessary meeting with the victim. Stepping into a telephone booth in a side street, he rang up The Moat. As he had hoped, Weatherup answered.

‘Don’t say yes or reply at all, Jeffries,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s Audinwood speaking. Can you slip out and meet me at two o’clock to-morrow morning in the boat-house? Bring the key as I have something to give you and we shall want to be in some building where we can have a light. If you understand and can do so, reply, “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong number.”’

‘Sorry, you’ve got the wrong number,’ came Weatherup’s voice: a safe phrase if overheard. It was followed by the click of his ring off.

That afternoon was a desperate nightmare to Charles as he sat in his office trying to concentrate on anything which would keep his thoughts off what was before him. He was afraid to go down to the machine shops, lest his obvious nervousness should be noticed. For the same reason he could not bear a discussion with Gairns. When the man came in with a pile of papers he told him to bring them in the morning instead, as he was engaged with some private letters.

At last, however, the afternoon drew to a close, and at his usual time Charles packed away his papers and left the office. So far he was satisfied that no one had noticed anything unusual in his manner. Now he had only to consider his man Rollins, and he would be careful to keep him at a distance.

Charles did not dress when he was alone, and there was a little time between his arrival home and dinner. He employed it in making the one or two final arrangements he required. Going to his workshop, he sawed a foot off a piece of heavy lead pipe which had been left after the last visit of the plumber. Round one end of this he wrapped a piece of softish canvas, tying it on tightly with cord. This made a formidable weapon which he thought could be used with the same effect as a sandbag. He hid it in a drawer in the workshop, together with the remainder of the lead pipe, a piece about three feet long. To these he added thirty yards of strong cord off a ball, a small crowbar with a fine chisel point like a cracksman’s jemmy, and a powerful electric torch. Next he took a piece of strong rope some twenty-five feet long, and winding it round his body beneath his coat, he slipped up unseen to his bedroom. There he hid the rope in his wardrobe, locking the door. In his pocket he put the rubber gloves he had already used in working with the pills. Then folding a bit of newspaper into a thick wad, he pushed it into his pocket-book.

All was now ready. He went downstairs and sat with a paper in his hands till he heard the gong, when he began dinner as usual. Rollins did not stay in the room, but came in to change the plates when Charles rang. It was Charles’s habit to chat with him on these appearances, and though it took an effort, he was careful to do so on this occasion also.

The evening dragged interminably. Charles sat in his study, ostensibly reading, but really too much excited and on edge to attend to anything. This terrible adventure on which he had embarked was of a very different type to that of his previous essay. Then he merely set causes in operation which after a long delay produced the desired effect. He was not present when the climax came and he saw nothing distressing. Now the affair would be personal and direct. He would actually have to commit violent murder with his own hands. They might be bloodstained literally as well as figuratively. Charles writhed as he thought of it.

At half-past ten Rollins came in with the usual drinks to find Charles writing busily at his desk. Charles murmured good night without raising his head. He had already been to the dining-room for a stout peg, and now he had another. It steadied him, and his outlook became more normal. At his usual time he went up to bed.

But not to sleep. He did not even undress. Instead he went on with his preparations. First he locked his bedroom door. Then taking the rope from his wardrobe, he began tying knots on it a couple of feet apart. Next he opened two adjoining sashes of his window and tied the rope round the dividing mullion. He then paid it out till the end lay on the ground below.

Charles had decided to leave and enter the house by his bedroom window because he did not dare to use the stairs and front door. The former creaked and the latter had a noisy spring bolt. A passage through the house would almost certainly be heard by either Rollins or his wife, both of whom were light sleepers. Charles hoped indeed that the converse argument might be used: that as no such sounds had been heard, no one could have left the house. Obviously such an argument would not constitute an alibi, but he thought it would have a certain weight.

Charles was in the habit of reading for a short time before going to sleep, and for this time he kept on the light. Then he turned it off and lay – waiting.

If time had gone slowly in the study, it now crawled. Over and over again in his mind’s eye he pictured the scene which lay before him and rehearsed the actions he would have to perform. Over and over again he considered the various contingencies which might arise and the methods he would adopt in such cases. Twelve had struck on the hall clock before he put the light out, and now half-past twelve came floating up with muffled reverberations; then one; then half-past one.

At last! Charles turned on his torch, crept on tiptoe over to the window, mounted the sill and swung himself out. Then he slid down, knot by knot, to the ground.

It was a suitable night for his purpose: fine and dry. Then and for some days past the ground was hard and would leave no footprints or other traces. There was unfortunately an almost full moon, but the sky was heavily overclouded, and in any case most of his work had to be done beneath trees. A slight breeze rustled through the branches and would cover up any faint sounds that he might make.

Halting for a moment to make sure that he was unobserved, Charles crept round to his workshop. There he picked up the two pieces of lead piping, the cord and the bar, and with the torch and the rubber gloves in his pocket, he set off for the rendezvous.

He pushed on as quickly as he could over the route which he had followed some thirty hours earlier. He passed through the trees surrounding his own house, reached the lane leading up on to the moor, and branched off along the footpath which skirted The Moat grounds. From this he turned into the wood surrounding the lake. It was dark and eerie among the trees and not easy to keep on the ill-defined track. However, his eye presently caught the faint shimmer of water and the black mass of the boat-house loomed up in front of him.

The door was round the opposite corner, and very silently Charles laid down the bar and cord and the longer piece of piping. The shorter piece with the tied-on canvas he hid beneath his coat. Then he moved round to the door. As he reached it the illuminated dial of his watch showed just five minutes to two. He called softly. There was a movement within and a voice answered.

‘That you, Weatherup?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘No difficulty about your getting out?’

‘No, sir. Mr Peter has gone up to London and it worked in handy. He might have heard a movement.’

‘I knew he was going. That’s why I rang you. I thought you’d find it easier to arrange.’

‘Yes, sir. Have you come to a decision, sir?’

‘I have,’ said Charles, moving into the boat-house and shutting the door. ‘We shall want a light presently and we don’t want to be overlooked. Yes, I’ve thought the thing over carefully and I see that what you said is reasonable. No matter how you may wish to do so, there is no way in which you can assure me of your good intentions other than by pledging your solemn word of honour. I am, therefore, going to trust you – I admit, because I can’t help myself.’

‘You may do so, sir: I assure you most earnestly that directly I get the money I will take my passage for America and you’ll never hear of me again.’

‘Well, I’ve got some money here. Not all of it, of course. You’ll understand that until probate is granted I won’t be able to lay a finger on what’s coming to me. What I’ve got here is all the ready money I could lay my hands on at the present time. It amounts to close on two thousand pounds.’

Even in the dark Charles believed he could sense the butler’s little movement of greed and satisfaction. His voice was certainly a little strained and husky as he answered that he was glad of that.

‘Well, we don’t want to be here all night,’ went on Charles. ‘Have you a torch?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well, then; just have a look over those notes. I’m not sure if they’re in small enough denominations. Better not turn on your torch where we’re standing. Let’s go into the corner where there’s no window.’

As Charles spoke he pushed into the butler’s hand his pocket-book, swollen with folded newspaper. Both men turned towards an area of still greater blackness, away from the blue-grey parallelograms of the windows. Charles managed to take his place on Weatherup’s left and half a step behind him. Weatherup eagerly clasped the pocket-book and moved forward. As Charles followed he took the pipe from beneath his coat. Then directly Weatherup switched on his torch, he silently swung it up, and brought it down with all his force on the head of the unsuspecting butler.

Weatherup collapsed without a cry and lay motionless in a tumbled heap. Charles turned his torch on the body. Yes, he had made a job of it. The man was obviously dead. His skull was crushed. But thanks to the canvas and his hat, the skin was scarcely broken, and there was practically no blood.

Charles wiped his forehead. That had been a bad moment. However, now the thing was done. He had burnt his boats and he could not stop to commiserate with himself. Now was the time for coolness and courage. Well, he told himself, he had them both.

His first care was to remove his pocket-book from the dead fingers. After a quick look to make sure there was no blood on it, he thrust it back into his own pocket. Then, fighting down his distaste, he began to search the pockets.

Ah, here in the trousers pocket was what he had hoped to find: a key. Charles was not quite sure what key it was, but thought it was that of the french window of the study. If so, it would suit his purpose admirably. The study was away from the sleeping-rooms at The Moat, whereas the hall door was just beneath them.

But there should be another key; of the boat-house. He went to the door. Yes, it was in the lock. He went out, brought in the bar and the cord and the long piece of piping, and locked the door from the inside.

It took all Charles’s courage to carry through what next had to be done. First he completed his search of the pockets to make sure that if the remains were found, nothing incriminating would be there. Then he put the hat inside the coat, buttoning the latter upon it. Next with the cord he tied the two pieces of lead piping to the body, lapping and re-lapping the strands to make quite certain the piping could not break adrift. Lastly he carried the remains down to one of the two boats which were lying moored in the water basin.

Having untied the painter, he pushed silently out on to the still water. Moving his oars in the quietest possible way, he worked gradually out into the middle of the lake. Then he unshipped the oars and set himself to get rid finally of the dreadful evidence of his act.

It was not easy to get the remains overboard without upsetting the narrow skiff. However, he managed it. With the utmost care he worked the body out over the stern, till suddenly, as if once again alive, it jerked itself out of his arms and plunged in with a soft splash. For a moment a bubble appeared, then all once again was still.

The sweat was running down Charles’s face as, after a careful examination of the bottom of the boat, he pulled silently back to the boat-house. There he tied up the boat as he had found it, and after swabbing up the oars with his handkerchief to make sure they would not drip on the floor, he replaced them on their rack. Then with a look round to make quite certain he had left no clue, he picked up the bar, let himself out of the boat-house, locked the door behind him and put the key in his pocket.

His night’s work was not yet over. The letter had still to be dealt with. While now he scarcely believed in its existence, he must put the matter beyond doubt.

Creeping silently along the path to The Moat, he presently reached the french window of the study. The key fitted and with the utmost precautions he opened the window, tiptoed in, and closed it behind him.

His first care was to steal across the room and, passing through the door to the hall, to hang the boat-house key on the nail on which he knew it was kept. He hoped in this way to prevent suspicion arising that the boat-house had figured in the affair, and so to avoid attention being directed to the lake.

Returning to the study, he locked the door from the hall. Then he settled down to search. If that letter of Weatherup’s was in the room, he must find it.

He worked unhurriedly and systematically, starting at one corner of the room and moving gradually round until he had examined every piece of furniture and every piece of paper he could see. Fortunately there was no safe. Most of the drawers were unlocked and slid out easily enough, in fact only the writing-desk was fastened. The desk, however, was the most likely place, and when he had completed the rest of the room, he turned again to it.