The Bath Mysteries (24 page)

He did not know what to say. He stood there, looking at her, wondering. Her eyes were open now, and she was looking not at him, but far past him. She might have been straining her vision to store up every physical detail it could reach. She said with the same accent of infinite dreariness:

“I suppose for a long time I shall go on saying ‘seeing.'”

“Why?” he asked. “What for – I mean, what are you doing it for?”

Her eyes that had been steady before began to blink again, and she made that characteristic gesture she had of wiping away something from before them.

“It'll be worse than spiders' webs being there all the time,” she said.

She went on up the stairs to the top where her own little room was situated. He followed her. She left the door open, and, while he watched her from the landing, she began with a kind of feverish and hurried impatience to get out her sewing. Bobby found himself saying abruptly:

“Don't do that.”

“I must,” she answered. “There's so little time.”

“What for?” he asked. “Why are you... I mean, what are you doing all that for? It's crazy.”

“If you have no money,” she said, but a little to herself, “you are so helpless – helpless.”

She came towards the door then to shut it, and he said:

“I wanted to tell you I have had a talk today with Miss Hewitt.”

“Miss Hewitt?” she repeated, as if the name were not at first recognized, and then, remembering: “Oh. Yes. How did you find her?”

“We've found out a good deal,” he told her, “but not why you came here to lodge, or why you are trying to work yourself – blind.”

She shivered a little at the word, and again he was aware of that feeling of brutality. He said:

“Is it to help Percy Lawrence?”

“I suppose you know all about him,” she said slowly. “All about me, too. Don't you? You're so clever at finding things out.”

“Why not tell us yourself?” he asked. “We might be able to help you. I think we could, perhaps. I think there may be need. But how can we, if you won't tell us anything.”

“What would be the good?” she asked. “A street woman, a convict, you wouldn't believe us; you would twist and turn everything we said. Can you see such as we are asking policemen for help?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I think that is why you came here, because you thought you might want me.”

She made no answer to that, but went back to her sewing, and, sitting down, began to work. She pushed the door to, and he went away down the stairs, remembering her sitting bending over her work, her busy needle moving to and fro, the shadows heavy all around in that small, dark, and awkward room.

“If she wanted to make sure of finishing off her sight, she's chosen the right place for it,” he thought.

Almost immediately the phone rang. He had had an extension put into his room so that he could answer without going into the hall. The message was from the Yard, and directed him to hurry immediately to the Park Lane flat rented by Dick Norris.

“Get a move on,” the voice over the wire enjoined. “They had a bit of a shock when they got there – Norris dead in his bath.”

“What? What's that?” Bobby shouted; and the thin distant voice repeated:

“They had to break in, and that's what they found. Bit of a facer – oh, and Percy Lawrence was recognized leaving the building just about half an hour before. There's a general call out for him, and they want you along at once, as you have seen him.”

“I'll be there right away,” Bobby said, but he took time to run upstairs and knock at Alice's door. When she answered, he pushed it open, and said:

“I've just had word a man named Norris has been found dead in his bath. Lawrence was seen leaving a little before.”

She listened, but gave no sign of emotion. Below her breath, so that the words were scarcely audible, she said:

“I thought so.”

When Bobby reached the Park Lane flats he found the general routine of such affairs in full progress, and he also soon found that he himself had been sent for in such haste through a misunderstanding. As soon as it was known that Lawrence had been seen leaving the flat shortly before the discovery of Norris's death, someone had mentioned that Lawrence was well known to Sergeant Owen, and someone else had at once suggested that Sergeant Owen should be sent for to provide a further description of the wanted man. Only after the message had been sent off had it been realized that of Lawrence, an ex-convict, a perfectly good description, photograph and fingerprint record included, was already in existence.

However, as he was there, he was told on his arrival to stand by in case he was wanted, and from one of the others present he learned that radio instructions had already been sent out for Lawrence to be found and brought to the Yard for questioning. Bobby's informant added:

“I was out chasing round after Magotty Meg when I got word to turn up here. The old girl's been at it again.”

“Has she?” Bobby asked, interested. “What is it this time?”

“Pinching a suitcase in a bus,” the other answered. “Lady getting out at Cannon Street found her suitcase missing, and then the conductor remembered Magotty Meg had been a passenger. Lively old girl, isn't she? The conductor knew her because he had been in court once as a witness against her, though he hadn't been able to place her at first, not till the lady complained. By the time we pick her up Meg will have got rid of the suitcase and everything identifiable, and butter won't melt in her mouth.”

“Was there anything valuable in the suitcase?” Bobby asked.

“No; she's not got much this time. A library book, some knitting, and a few odds and ends.”

“Curious,” Bobby muttered, and the other nodded agreement.

“The old girl generally does better,” he said. “Got a keener nose for a good thing as a rule – most likely she just saw a chance and took it. Not one of her thought-out do's. I might just as well have gone on having a try to land the old lady before she got rid of the stuff. There's nothing to this case; not much to it when a bird with Lawrence's record is seen leaving a flat and a dead man is found in it half an hour later.”

“How do they know it was Lawrence?” Bobby asked. “Did someone recognize him?”

“Gave his name to one of the porters when he was asking for the flat,” was the reply. “Said he had an appointment with Mr. Norris and would they phone up and see if Mr. Norris was in, and Norris phoned back to send Mr. Lawrence up.”

“Then he gave his name himself quite openly?” Bobby remarked.

“Well, most likely he didn't come meaning to do Norris in,” the other answered. “You know Lawrence's record?

Got the cat in jail for an assault on a warder.”

“Yes, I know,” Bobby answered. “I thought it would be interesting to get particulars. I got a man I know to write a chap he knows who was a warder at the time. There ought to be a reply soon.”

“What particulars?” his colleague inquired. “It was just that he went for a warder and tried to kill him, that's all. Some of them try it till they find it only means the cat. Pretty tough record Lawrence has all round, from what I can make out. And now this.”

“They found Norris dead in his bath, didn't they?” Bobby inquired.

“Yes. No answer when they knocked, and they made sure he had got word he was wanted and made a getaway. But they hammered a bit more, and some of the staff came along. Didn't like it one little bit; scared of their lives of a scandal and the other tenants not appreciating it and leaving, and then their going themselves, too, because the management blames it all on them and sacks the lot. But our people told them they had to get in, so the manager was sent for, and he opened the door with his key. Everything looked a bit upset, and when they went into the bathroom, there was Norris, in the bath, dead. And the first man who tried to get him out was nearly a deader, too.”

“Why? How?” Bobby asked.

“The sunray lamp at one end of the bath had fallen into the water and it was charged with electricity; current running through it. Rummy stuff, electricity. First man took a bad knock – nearly a knockout. Second man didn't even know what was the matter. He had rubber soles to his shoes.”

“Nothing to show how the lamp got into the water?” Bobby asked.

“No. Norris had one hand on it as if he had taken hold of it for some reason – to lift it somewhere out of the way perhaps. But the flat people swear the thing was securely bolted down, and could only have been loosened on purpose and with the aid of tools.”

“Was that what caused death, do you know?” Bobby asked. “Electric shock, I mean?”

“They don't seem sure. I suppose they'll find out at the post mortem. His head was under water all right, but it seems a question whether the shock killed him or the drowning. The doctor said perhaps they would never know for certain.”

The speaker's name was called just then, and he vanished on some errand. Bobby, standing by as he had been instructed, but keeping out of sight as much as possible for fear of being told he was not needed, continued to watch unobtrusively the progress of the investigation, and to pick up as many details as he could from what he could overhear.

He learned that Norris's evening clothes had been found laid out in the bedroom, so that apparently he had been having a bath before dressing for dinner. The first idea entertained, therefore, that he had perhaps committed suicide, on hearing in some way that his arrest was contemplated, seemed to be disposed of. A man intending to commit suicide would hardly take the trouble to get out dinner jacket and dress shirt first. There remained the possibility of accident, but against that was the fact of the presence in the water of the electrical apparatus that according to the testimony of the flat management could not be there as the result of any mischance, and the further fact that the flat showed signs of having been hastily ransacked, apparently for documents, since such signs were plainest in the disturbed contents of the drawers of the writing table and of a deed-box of which the lock had been broken. A cupboard and other drawers looked as if they had been searched, too, but whether anything had been taken it was, of course, impossible to say as yet. A careful examination of the rooms was still in progress, and fingerprint experts were busy.

“We know Lawrence was here,” one of them remarked to Bobby; “there's the evidence of the staff of the flats for that. But he may have had pals. There's a girl works in his office with him; she may have been here, too. Though if she were she'll have worn gloves. They all do that all right.” Another of the searchers had made a discovery – an insurance policy for a large amount; £20,000 in fact.

“Here's what it was done for,” he exclaimed excitedly. “Twenty thousand pounds again; always the same amount.” Then he gave a low whistle. “Oh, lumme,” he said, “it's only for an accident caused to a train or other public vehicle in which policyholder was a fare-paying passenger. That knocks it clean out for this business.”

Looking very dissatisfied, he continued his inspection of the different letters and papers he found; and then the senior officer in charge noticed Bobby, asked him what he was doing there, and told him to get off and take part in the general hunt for Lawrence that was now on foot.

“Nothing you are wanted for here,” he said. “Oh, wait a moment. It is you who reported on a man named Beale – Dr. Beale, isn't it? A professor or something. You know his address?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Bobby. “Dr. Ambrose Beale. I don't think he is a professor, as I understand it; he is a writer on philosophy. I think he is busy with a new book now. He was talking about investing money through the Berry, Quick Syndicate – £20,000 – and apparently they wanted him to insure his life for that amount as a protection against loss. The local police have been asked to watch and report if he comes to town, in case of any danger.”

“In case he was meant to be the next,” observed the senior officer. “Yes, I remember. Ring up the local people and ask if they have anything to report, and if he has been at home today. He may be able to give us some information.”

Bobby went to carry out these instructions, but it took him some time to get through. When he did succeed, he received an emphatic reply to the general effect that Dr. Beale had been working in his study as usual. He had not been seen to leave the house at any time all the day. He had been seen once or twice leaning out of the window and smoking his pipe, or sometimes a cigarette, as was his custom, and his typewriter had been heard going continuously. At the moment of phoning – for by now it was late – his lamp was burning, and his shadow could at times be distinguished on the blind as, in his usual way, when presumably thinking how to frame his next sentence, he paced up and down the floor of his room between lamp and window. Bobby suggested they might take steps to assure themselves it was in fact Dr. Beale who was there, and they grumbled back that it was quite unnecessary but they would do so all the same. And in fact, an hour after Bobby had gone, a message came through from them to the effect that one of their men had made an excuse to look up Dr. Beale on some pretence of an automobile accident of which it was thought he might have been a witness. Dr. Beale had been very annoyed at being bothered at such a late hour, knew, of course, nothing of the imaginary accident, and had not accepted too graciously the apologies profusely offered for his having been troubled. But at any rate it was quite certain that it was Dr. Beale in person who had been seen and spoken to.

Before this piece of information came through, however, Bobby had departed homewards, though not before he had learned that the search for Lawrence had so far been unsuccessful. It was known that he had gone to his lodgings after leaving the Norris flat, for his landlady had been questioned and had said that he had been in for supper as usual, and as usual had gone out afterwards. Also one of the patrolling police-cars had seen him on the accustomed route of his evening walks, well on the way to Acton, but had lost sight of him in the traffic through a change of the control lights that had released a flow of cars between it and him. After that he had vanished, presumably having realized that he was being looked out for, and so having changed the ordinary routine of his walk.