The Ha-Ha Case Page 22

  “One or two questions!” Jim repeated angrily. “Now, look here, Inspector. I’m not satisfied with all this. You came up here on the day of my brother’s death and you got all the information I had to give you. The next thing I hear is that you’re back again asking more questions, trying to get something out of Miss Menteith. And here you are again, with another batch! The inquest’s over long ago. The jury brought in their verdict. The affair’s dead and done with, isn’t it? Then what do you mean by coming nosing round, asking questions about the private concerns of my family? It’s my turn to ask questions, I think; and I’ll begin with that one, if you please.”

  Inspector Hinton’s temper, according to his subordinates, was none of the best; and this rudeness tried it sorely. But evidently his only course was to pocket his pride and gain his ends by diplomacy. Still, he entered up in his mental ledger a black mark against Jim Brandon, for his feelings had been severely rasped by this reception.

  “I assure you, Mr. Brandon,” he declared suavely, “it’s no pleasure to me to have to trouble people. I like it as little as they do. But I’m paid to do certain work, and I have to earn my salary honestly, just as you’d have to do if you were in my shoes. The coroner’s not my master. What he does, and what the jury think, that’s their own concern. But I’m responsible to the Chief Constable in matters of this kind, and my duty is to collect all the information that he might want in certain contingencies. Mostly,” he went on quickly, “these contingencies never turn up. Still, one has to be prepared. It’s part of the routine. We’ve files and files of information that has never been used and never will be; but we’ve had to collect it. It’s part of the system, and I can’t change the system, even if I wanted to.”

  The inspector had purposely made his explanation lengthy, so as to allow Jim’s temper to cool, before he had a chance of breaking in. The tremor of vexation in Jim’s voice when he replied was enough to show that Hinton’s attempt had not been wholly successful.

  “It comes to this, then. People are badgered by all sorts of aimless questions, merely so that you can write up a lot of useless stuff to show how zealous you are. And suppose I refuse to take a hand? Suppose I say: ‘Nothing doing.’ What then?”

  The inspector reflected for a moment or two before replying.

  “Well, sir,” he answered in the tone of one giving friendly advice, “if you ask me, I don’t think that would be a sound course. Look at it this way. I have to make my reports to my superintendent. Suppose I write: ‘Mr. Brandon refuses all information.’ The superintendent doesn’t know you as I do; he’s never met you personally. All he sees is that sentence. Now put yourself in his place. Wouldn’t you say to yourself: ‘Ah! Refuses information, does he? Then he must have something he wants to hide. What is it?’ And down would come instructions for me to find out all about this mare’s nest. I don’t want that; and you don’t, either, I’m sure.”

  Jim Brandon seemed to give the matter careful consideration before he answered.

  “Something in what you say, perhaps,” he agreed with less asperity than he had hitherto shown. “I hadn’t looked at it in that light.”

  He pondered for a few more seconds and then added:

  “I think Miss Menteith had better be here. She might perhaps be able to throw some light on these points of yours, whatever they are. Any objection?”

  Hinton had a preference for taking his witnesses singly. One got more out of a man if he was alone. But he could adduce no valid argument for excluding Una, and to object to her presence might set off Brandon’s hair-trigger temper again. He consented, therefore; and Jim, going to the bell, summoned a maid and gave instructions which brought Una to the drawing-room almost immediately. Jim briefly explained the situation to her. She gave an understanding nod and, seating herself, made a gesture inviting Hinton to take a chair.

  “Well, what is it you want?” Jim demanded as he followed their example.

  Hinton had carefully considered his opening move beforehand, so that he was ready with a question which sounded innocent enough.

  “During your brother’s minority, who was his guardian or trustee, Mr. Brandon?”

  Jim looked slightly puzzled.

  “Guardian? I’m not sure about the legal meaning. Is a parent a guardian according to law? What it amounted to in practice was that my father was responsible for him.”

  “I see. But he was in Mr. Laxford’s charge, wasn’t he?”

  Jim frowned momentarily. This touched a sore spot.

  “Mr. Laxford was engaged as my brother’s tutor, purely for educational purposes.”

  “Yes, yes. He wasn’t a trustee? He hadn’t any power to act as one?”

  Jim shook his head decidedly.

  “No. Laxford was employed as a tutor to my brother. That was his position.”

  “I believe,” Hinton glanced aside at Una, “that this Edgehill estate was leased in the name of your brother. Was that done with your father’s consent?”

  “No, he was never consulted about it.”

  “There was some talk of buying the estate, I believe?”

  Una interposed swiftly before Jim began to answer:

  “Mr. John Brandon told me about that.”

  “So you mentioned before,” the inspector reminded her politely. “Can you remember when he told you?”

  “It was about the time he and Mr. Laxford went up to London, I think. I can’t remember exactly. It didn’t interest me much and I paid no attention, no particular attention, I mean.”

  “Quite so. And now, Mr. Brandon, can you tell me this. What led to the . . . h’m . . . disagreement between you and Mr. Laxford which ended in his leaving this house?”

  Jim considered this question for ten or fifteen seconds before answering.

  “We disapproved of Mr. Laxford.”

  “We?” queried the inspector with a glance towards Una.

  “By ‘we,’ I mean my brother and myself—and my father also,” Jim replied stiffly.

  “I see. Now, Mr. Brandon, on what account did you disapprove of Mr. Laxford?”

  “We thought he had a bad influence over my brother,” Jim answered frankly.

  “Ah? A bad influence? Just so.” Hinton paused for a moment and then demanded: “Do you think your brother had anything on his mind lately?”

  With the tail of his eye, the inspector surprised a piece of by-play between his two witnesses. Evidently his question had taken them both aback, and by an interchange of glances they were making silent efforts to agree on some policy. Una’s brows showed her disapproval of some course which Jim seemed to be urging; but she gave way, finally, with a tiny shrug, as though leaving him to take the responsibility if he chose. The whole thing was over almost before Hinton noticed it, but he had no difficulty in seeing that this particular point had been discussed between them beforehand. That was the worst of making appointments; it gave people a chance of putting their heads together before they were questioned.

  Jim Brandon brought a pair of steady eyes round to the inspector’s face.

  “Anything on his mind?” he echoed, as though not quite sure of Hinton’s meaning. “That’s a bit vague, isn’t it? Can’t you say what you mean, exactly?”

  But this was precisely what the inspector could not do. He was surer than ever that he was on the track of something. That mute exchange of glances showed divided councils; and divided councils mean, in a case like this, that somebody wants to hold something back. He decided to try another cast.

  “You spoke of Mr. Laxford having an influence over your brother. A strong influence, was it?”

  “Too strong for my liking.”

  The inspector made up his mind to play his biggest trump now. He leaned forward slightly in his chair and spoke with studied deliberation so that no word should be lost.

  “Do you think this influence might account for your brother assigning that insurance policy to Mrs. Laxford?”

  There was no mistaking the surprise on both the
faces before him. Evidently his bombshell had done its work. Jim was the first to recover.

  “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” he said, with a marked change in his tone. “Do you mind explaining this?”

  “Oh, I supposed you knew about it,” Hinton declared disingenuously. “Your brother took out a policy on his own life for £25,000 a few weeks ago and assigned it to Mrs. Laxford ‘for value received.’ Your brother didn’t mention it to you?”

  “Twenty-five thousand!” Jim repeated, as though the figure made a profound impression on him. Then, in a harsh tone, he went on jerkily, “And he made it over to that . . .? You hear, Una? He made it over to her!”

  Una made no reply in words, but she moved slightly in her chair as though freeing herself from something physically repellent.

  “She doesn’t like it, any more than he does,” the inspector inferred, “but she’s got a better grip on herself. And it’s plain enough that I’m on to something here.”

  Jim Brandon repeated “Twenty-five thousand!” under his breath as though it were a curse; then he seemed to recover his balance, though with a visible effort.

  “There’s something far wrong here,” he said in a troubled voice. “Would you mind explaining it? A bit more detail, please.”

  Hinton gave them only the minimum of facts: the issue of the final insurance policy, Johnnie’s letter to the insurance company, and Laxford’s production of the assignment witnessed by himself and Hay. Jim listened intently with a frown on his face.

  “There’s something very fishy about this,” he commented in a graver tone than he had used up to that moment. “That assignment can’t be worth the paper it’s written on. My brother only came of age on the morning of his death. Before that, he could make no legal assignment.”

  Inspector Hinton verified something in his notebook before answering.

  “The actual assignment which Mr. Laxford showed to the insurance people was dated 28th August,” he said. “He came of age that morning, Mr. Brandon, didn’t he? So it’s quite a valid document.”

  “Then,” Jim demanded, “how do you square that with the fact that I asked my brother, just before we went out to shoot, if he had signed any document? He denied it, flat.”

  Inspector Hinton, though not so clever as he imagined himself, was no fool. Jim had exposed the joint in his harness for which Hinton had been searching; and he seized his chance.

  “How did you come to put that question to him?” he demanded. “Rather a funny one, wasn’t it? in the circumstances.”

  Jim was obviously taken aback by this riposte; and a glance at Una’s face showed the inspector that he had scored heavily. He noted a quick exchange of glances between the two. Una seemed to be reproaching Jim for a blunder, whilst he was trying to reassure her. After a pause of a few seconds, Jim explained:

  “I told you already that we distrusted Laxford’s influence over my brother.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you put your question at that particular moment, though,” Hinton persisted.

  Jim kept his eyes on the inspector’s face, as though wilfully avoiding Una’s warning look.

  “I’ll be quite plain with you,” he said deliberately, “for purely official purposes only. I don’t want this sort of thing made public, naturally.”

  Una made a sound of protest, but Jim went on.

  “It’s all right, Una. I see where this is moving and it’s bound to come out, sooner or later. We’ve nothing to suppress. The inspector won’t gossip, we can be sure of that. Here are the plain facts, Inspector. The night before my brother’s death, I learned with my own ears that Laxford and Hay had trapped him in a false position. It was a planned affair.”

  He gave the inspector an outline of the plot which he had unearthed, without mentioning Una’s share in the matter.

  “That was the state of affairs,” he concluded. “Do you think it funny that I should ask my brother if he’d signed anything?”

  “No, it was a very wise precaution,” the inspector admitted. “And your brother denied that he’d signed anything? H’m! I don’t want to be offensive, Mr. Brandon, but could you rely on your brother telling you the truth about it?”

  “Johnnie never lied in his life,” Una broke in hotly. “He was absolutely truthful.”

  “He was perfectly truthful, as Miss Menteith says,” Jim said bluntly. “You can rule that out.”

  The inspector accepted their statements with a little gesture. Inwardly, he was congratulating himself on his clairvoyance. Here was the very case he had foretold: blackmail with suicide as its sequel.

  “You could testify on oath to all you’ve told me?” he asked in a very serious tone.

  “Of course I could,” Jim answered at once.

  “I’m not doubting your recollections for a moment,” Hinton went on, “but it’s established by documentary evidence that your brother had the intention of making this assignment—in fact, he’d signed an invalid assignment of the same kind—as far back as 15th August. He wrote that letter to the insurance company on that date. You can see how the existence of that letter might tell with a jury.”

  Jim rubbed his chin with his hand, like a man who sees a difficulty but has not found its solution.

  “Facts are facts,” he asserted stoutly after a moment or two. “My brother signed nothing that morning.”

  The inspector was looking at the matter from another viewpoint as his next words showed.

  “This man Hay is one of our difficulties,” he admitted with a show of frankness. “We can’t put our hands on him. Now his name’s on that assignment as a witness, along with Mr. Laxford. If the executors of your brother chose to contest that assignment, Mr. Laxford would have to produce his witness, I think.”

  “Oh, we’ll contest the assignment all right,” said Jim with a snarl. “Don’t you be afraid of that. Twenty-five thousand’s worth making a fight for.”

  “Yes, yes,” Hinton agreed. “And in the course of that business something might come out which would be of use to us, of course. Now there’s another point. What was your brother’s state of mind before his death?”

  “Perfectly normal, I should say,” Jim said with some assurance. “Just wait a moment.”

  He left the room and came back in a minute or two with a quarto exercise book which he handed to the inspector.

  “That’s a diary my brother kept. Just glance through it and you’ll see the sort of thing.”

  Hinton opened the book, which was an ordinary ruled volume and not a specially prepared diary. The first entry that met his eye was perfectly common-place: a bald note of hours spent in study, a record of a rabbit and two wood-pigeons shot, the route of a country walk. He turned over to the date ‘August 15th,’ where, in the same characteristic sprawling hand, he found a colourless account of a visit to London: lunch, some shopping, dinner, and the name of a music-hall. Hinton marked the place with his finger and showed the book to Jim.

  “There’s no mention of his being overhauled by the insurance doctors. That happened on August 15th.”

  “Oh, so that was what he went up to town for?” Jim exclaimed in enlightenment. “I knew there was something fishy, then! He wouldn’t tell me what he’d been doing, barring this sort of stuff”—he pointed to the diary. “Laxford had told him to keep his jaw shut, I saw, and my brother wasn’t the kind that breaks its word. He’s left it out of his diary, even. Doesn’t that prove what I said about Laxford having too much influence over him?”

  “Of course, of course,” Hinton agreed, rather indifferently as he continued to glance through the pages of the book. “Well, I admit that up to August 27th, this diary seems to show nothing out of the common. But . . . it stops there, Mr. Brandon. It doesn’t even mention your arrival here. There’s no entry at all for the day before his death, and that’s rather significant, isn’t it?”

  “He had no time to write up anything, that day,” Jim pointed out, in an attempt to put a better face on the matter. “
He was with me most of the time, arid he went to bed very late.”

  “I dare say,” Hinton answered, quite unconvinced. “Let’s leave that, Mr. Brandon. There’s this question of the illegal assignment your brother made on 15th August, which was replaced later by the assignment dated on the morning of his death, evidently. What was at the back of that, in your opinion?”

  Jim did not answer immediately. Evidently he had not thought out this matter. But in a very short time he made a suggestion.

  “Assume the Laxfords didn’t know then that it was an invalid document. Take it that they thought it constituted a legal transfer. My brother, when he came of age, would have been in a position to drive a bargain in connection with our family estate and if Laxford had been his adviser, my brother might have been induced to drive a very hard bargain. Now suppose they went to a moneylender and tried to raise cash on the strength of my brother’s expectations when he came of age. The moneylender would say: ‘Yes, but suppose you die in the meanwhile? Then your expectations are a wash-out and I might whistle for my cash.’ The counter to that would be to insure my brother’s life until he came of age, and use that policy as security for a loan. You see, it isn’t like an ordinary policy which is only worth its surrender value if you try to borrow on it. This policy makes a perfectly sound asset. If my brother died before coming of age, then there’s the £25,000 cash to indemnify the moneylender. If my brother lived till he was twenty-one, then his rights in our family estate could be realised so as to bring in enough to pay off the loan. That would leave the moneylender safe, either way. You see that?”

  “I see that,” the inspector echoed thoughtfully. “And your idea is that this . . . h’m! . . . trap that your brother was led into was a means of ensuring that he followed Mr. Laxford’s advice when the time came to bargain over your family estate? By the way, what is the exact position of the estate affair, Mr. Brandon?”

  “It’s entailed according to what’s called the custom of ‘borough English,’ which gives the youngest son the powers that usually fall to the eldest son in the case of entails.”