Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 27, No. 2, September 24, 1927

WEST END MURDER

Financier Shot Dead

ARREST OF A BANK CASHIER

Alan Sylvester broke the silence:

“Who could have done it, Martin?”

Everest lighting a cigarette, paused.

“The butler possibly. At any rate we know Pendlebury didn’t. But I’d like to hear Hugh’s story first.”

“Daph will be here in a minute,” replied Williamson.

They got up quickly as the key clicked in the outside door and Daphne came into the room. Her face was a little pale, but she forced up a smile as they greeted her.

“I know. It’s pretty bad, isn’t it? Just about as bad as it could be, dears.”

It was, and they all knew it. Their faces reflected it. Without a word they watched her as she threw back her big fur coat, and sitting down at the head of the table lighted a cigarette.

“Anything to add to what the papers say, Martin?” she queried. “I see that Pendlebury has pleaded not guilty. Has he said anything about us?”

“Fortunately not a word, my dear. Incidentally, I’m defending him!”

“Martin!”

Amazement showed in her face, but the barrister merely smiled.

“Never mind how I managed it — that doesn’t matter. But I’ve seen him and he’s said nothing. Actually I think he was too flabbergasted at the whole affair. So I told him to go on saying nothing. Incidentally, he never left his house last night and he can prove it.”

“Then that means—” began Daphne eagerly, but he stopped her.

“Actually, I’m afraid it doesn’t. He’s only got his wife to vouch for it. We, of course, know he wasn’t at Wollstein’s house, but,” with a rather forced smile, “we don’t want to have to say so.”

“We shall have to say so, Martin,” replied the girl in low tones, “if it’s going against him.”

“Obviously, my dear. However, let’s get Hugh to tell us exactly what happened last night. Maybe he can let a little useful daylight into some of our dark places.”

“It was on the stroke of nine thirty,” began Williamson, “that I rang the bell and the butler opened the door.”

“Did he seem to recognize you?” asked Everest.

“He certainly did. And he ought to have, too. Ask Alan who made me up. I was as like Pendlebury as one pea is to another.”

Everest nodded.

“Did he say anything?”

“Merely that his master was expecting me. He showed me into the library. Wollstein was there.”

“All alone?”

“He was. Incidentally I noticed that the windows were all closely shuttered.” Everest nodded. He had become the keen, watchful cross-examiner now, jerking out questions, picking up answers — keen brain vitally alert.

“Wollstein uneasy or suspicious, Hugh?”

“Not a bit. I produced the money and he parted like a lamb.”

“Who let you out?”

“I let myself out. Wollstein rang for his butler, but he never materialized.”

A momentary pause. Everest was suddenly interested.

“Just repeat that last statement, Hugh.”

The explorer did so.

“You’re absolutely sure of that? It’s of vital importance.”

“I’m absolutely sure. As a matter of fact I had a half crown ready for him. It struck me as a pretty touch — having cheated his master out of six hundred quid!”

Even Daphne smiled at that, but she became serious again in a moment as Everest went on.

“There’s no possibility of any one being hidden in the room while you were there?”

Williamson shook his head.

“Not the remotest. And you know how quickly I absorb detail. There was just the pedestal table where Wollstein sat when he unlocked the drawer that contained the letters — a couple of easy chairs, a little table with coffee on it. The windows were tightly shuttered and fastened as I told you, and the curtains only came halfway down. No one else could possibly have been in the room.”

Martin Everest leaned forward in his chair.

“I have seen this butler’s sworn statement to the police,” he said slowly, and distinctly. “This is what he says: First that he let Pendlebury in at nine thirty and admitted him to his master’s room. We agree to that. Secondly that as the clock was striking a quarter to ten he helped Pendlebury on with his coat in the hall and let him out.”

Amazement showed on the faces of them all.

“From Hugh’s statement,” went on Everest, “that is a deliberate lie.”

“It most certainly is,” murmured Williamson.

“Right,” continued the barrister; “we’ll discuss that later. He goes on to say that he went straight to his master’s room — the library — and found the door locked. Failing to get an answer he ran out into the square where he found a policeman. Did you meet a policeman, Hugh, as you went through the square after you left Wollstein’s house?”

“I did. I said ‘Good night, sergeant,’ and he said ‘Good night, sir.’ ”

“That is on the policeman’s sworn statement. He has also identified Pendlebury. The policeman returned with the butler and they forced the library door — the key being missing. They found Wollstein dead in his chair with a bullet through his heart. On his table was a letter” — he turned to Daphne — “the letter you told him to write saying he would call at nine thirty and bring the money.