Ordeal by Innocence

‘And the police will make fresh investigations?’

‘Almost certainly I should say. Of course,’ added Marshall, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, ‘it is doubtful after this lapse of time, owing to the peculiar features of the case, whether they will be able to achieve any result…For myself, I should doubt it. They may know that someone in the house is guilty. They may get so far as to have a very shrewd idea of who that someone is. But to get definite evidence will not be easy.’

‘I see,’ said Calgary. ‘I see…Yes, that’s what she meant.’

The lawyer said sharply: ‘Of whom are you speaking?’

‘The girl,’ said Calgary. ‘Hester Argyle.’

‘Ah, yes. Young Hester.’ He asked curiously: ‘What did she say to you?’

‘She spoke of the innocent,’ said Calgary. ‘She said it wasn’t the guilty who mattered but the innocent. I understand now what she meant…’

Marshall cast a sharp glance at him. ‘I think possibly you do.’

‘She meant just what you are saying,’ said Arthur Calgary. ‘She meant that once more the family would be under suspicion–’

Marshall interrupted. ‘Hardly once more,’ he said. ‘There was never time for the family to come under suspicion before. Jack Argyle was clearly indicated from the first.’

Calgary waved the interruption aside.

‘The family would come under suspicion,’ he said, ‘and it might remain under suspicion for a long time–perhaps for ever. If one of the family was guilty it is possible that they themselves would not know which one. They would look at each other and–wonder…Yes, that’s what would be the worst of all. They themselves would not know which…’

There was silence. Marshall watched Calgary with a quiet, appraising glance, but he said nothing.

‘That’s terrible, you know…’ said Calgary.

His thin, sensitive face showed the play of emotion on it.

‘Yes, that’s terrible…To go on year after year not knowing, looking at one another, perhaps the suspicion affecting one’s relationships with people. Destroying love, destroying trust…’

Marshall cleared his throat.

‘Aren’t you–er–putting it rather too vividly?’

‘No,’ said Calgary, ‘I don’t think I am. I think, perhaps, if you’ll excuse me, Mr Marshall, I see this more clearly than you do. I can imagine, you see, what it might mean.’

Again there was silence.

‘It means,’ said Calgary, ‘that it is the innocent who are going to suffer…And the innocent should not suffer. Only the guilty. That’s why–that’s why I can’t wash my hands of it. I can’t go away and say “I’ve done the right thing, I’ve made what amends I can–I’ve served the cause of justice,” because you see what I have done has not served the cause of justice. It has not brought conviction to the guilty, it has not delivered the innocent from the shadow of guilt.’

‘I think you’re working yourself up a little, Dr Calgary. What you say has some foundation of truth, no doubt, but I don’t see exactly what–well, what you can do about it.’

‘No. Nor do I,’ said Calgary frankly. ‘But it means that I’ve got to try. That’s really why I’ve come to you, Mr Marshall. I want–I think I’ve a right to know–the background.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Mr Marshall, his tone slightly brisker. ‘There’s no secret about all that. I can give you any facts you want to know. More than facts I am not in a position to give you. I’ve never been on intimate terms with the household. Our firm has acted for Mrs Argyle over a number of years. We have co-operated with her over establishing various trusts and seeing to legal business. Mrs Argyle herself I knew reasonably well and I also knew her husband. Of the atmosphere at Sunny Point, of the temperaments and characters of the various people living there, I only know as you might say, at second-hand through Mrs Argyle herself.’

‘I quite understand all that,’ said Calgary, ‘but I’ve got to make a start somewhere. I understand that the children were not her own. That they were adopted?’

‘That is so. Mrs Argyle was born Rachel Konstam, the only daughter of Rudolph Konstam, a very rich man. Her mother was American and also a very rich woman in her own right. Rudolph Konstam had many philanthropic interests and brought his daughter up to take an interest in these benevolent schemes. He and his wife died in an aeroplane crash and Rachel then devoted the large fortune she inherited from her father and mother to what we may term, loosely, philanthropical enterprises. She took a personal interest in these benefactions and did a certain amount of settlement work herself. It was in doing the latter that she met Leo Argyle, who was an Oxford Don, with a great interest in economics and social reform. To understand Mrs Argyle you have to realize that the great tragedy of her life was that she was unable to have children. As is the case with many women, this disability gradually overshadowed the whole of her life. When after visits to all kinds of specialists, it seemed clear that she could never hope to be a mother, she had to find what alleviation she could. She adopted first a child from a slum tenement in New York–that is the present Mrs Durrant. Mrs Argyle devoted herself almost entirely to charities connected with children. On the outbreak of war in 1939 she established under the auspices of the Ministry of Health a kind of war nursery for children, purchasing the house you visited, Sunny Point.’

‘Then called Viper’s Point,’ said Calgary.

‘Yes. Yes, I believe that was the original name. Ah, yes, perhaps in the end a more suitable name than the name she chose for it–Sunny Point. In 1940 she had about twelve to sixteen children, mostly those who had unsatisfactory guardians or who could not be evacuated with their own families. Everything was done for these children. They were given a luxurious home. I remonstrated with her, pointing out to her it was going to be difficult for the children after several years of war, to return from these luxurious surroundings to their homes. She paid no attention to me. She was deeply attached to the children and finally she formed the project of adding some of them, those from particularly unsatisfactory homes or who were orphans, to her own family. This resulted in a family of five. Mary–now married to Philip Durrant–Michael, who works in Drymouth, Tina, a half-caste child, Hester, and of course, Jacko. They grew up regarding the Argyles as their father and mother. They were given the best education money could buy. If environment counts for anything they should have gone far. They certainly had every advantage. Jack–or Jacko, as they called him–was always unsatisfactory. He stole money at school and had to be taken away. He got into trouble in his first year at the university. Twice he only avoided a jail sentence by a very narrow margin. He always had an ungovernable temper. All this, however, you probably have already gathered. Twice embezzlement on his part was made good by the Argyles. Twice money was spent in setting him up in business. Twice these business enterprises failed. After his death an allowance was paid, and indeed is still paid, to his widow.’

Calgary leant forward in astonishment.

‘His widow? Nobody has ever told me that he was married.’

‘Dear, dear.’ The lawyer clicked his thumb irritably. ‘I have been remiss. I had forgotten, of course, that you had not read the newspaper reports. I may say that none of the Argyle family had any idea that he was married. Immediately after his arrest his wife appeared at Sunny Point in great distress. Mr Argyle was very good to her. She was a young woman who had worked as a dance hostess in the Drymouth Palais de Danse. I probably forgot to tell you about her because she remarried a few weeks after Jack’s death. Her present husband is an electrician, I believe, in Drymouth.’

‘I must go and see her,’ said Calgary. He added, reproachfully, ‘She is the first person I should have gone to see.’

‘Certainly, certainly. I will give you the address. I really cannot think why I did not mention it to you when you first came to me.’

Calgary was silent.

‘She was such a–well–negligible factor,’ said the lawyer apologetically. ‘Even the newspapers did not play her up much–she never visited her husband in prison–or took any further interest in him–’

Calgary had been deep in thought. He said now:

‘Can you tell me exactly who was in that house on the night Mrs Argyle was killed?’

Marshall gave him a sharp glance.

‘Leo Argyle, of course, and the youngest daughter, Hester. Mary Durrant and her invalid husband were there on a visit. He had just come out of hospital. Then there was Kirsten Lindstrom–whom you probably met–she is a Swedish trained nurse and masseuse who originally came to help Mrs Argyle with her war nursery and has remained on ever since. Michael and Tina were not there–Michael works as a car salesman in Drymouth and Tina has a job in the County Library at Redmyn and lives in a flat there.’

Marshall paused before going on.

‘There was also Miss Vaughan, Mr Argyle’s secretary. She had left the house before the body was discovered.’

‘I met her also,’ said Calgary. ‘She seems very–attached to Mr Argyle.’

‘Yes–yes. I believe there may shortly be an engagement announced.’ ‘Ah!’

‘He has been very lonely since his wife died,’ said the lawyer, with a faint note of reproof in his voice.

‘Quite so,’ said Calgary.

Then he said:

‘What about motive, Mr Marshall?’

‘My dear Dr Calgary, I really cannot speculate as to that!’

‘I think you can. As you have said yourself the facts are ascertainable.’

‘There was no direct monetary benefit to anyone. Mrs Argyle had entered into a series of discretionary Trusts, a formula which as you know is much adopted nowadays. These Trusts were in favour of all the children. They are administered by three Trustees, of whom I am one, Leo Argyle is one and the third is an American lawyer, a distant cousin of Mrs Argyle’s. The very large sum of money involved is administered by these three Trustees and can be adjusted so as to benefit those beneficiaries of the Trust who need it most.’

‘What about Mr Argyle? Did he profit in a monetary sense by his wife’s death?’

‘Not to any great extent. Most of her fortune, as I have told you, had gone into Trusts. She left him the residue of her estate, but that did not amount to a large sum.’

‘And Miss Lindstrom?’

‘Mrs Argyle had bought a very handsome annuity for Miss Lindstrom some years previously.’ Marshall added irritably, ‘Motive? There doesn’t seem to me a ha’porth of motive about. Certainly no financial motive.’

‘And in the emotional field? Was there any special–friction?’

‘There, I’m afraid, I can’t help you.’ Marshall spoke with finality. ‘I wasn’t an observer of the family life.’

‘Is there anyone who could?’

Marshall considered for a moment or two. Then he said, almost reluctantly:

‘You might go and see the local doctor. Dr–er–MacMaster, I think his name is. He’s retired now, but still lives in the neighbourhood. He was medical attendant to the war nursery. He must have known and seen a good deal of the life at Sunny Point. Whether you can persuade him to tell you anything is up to you. But I think that if he chose, he might be helpful, though–pardon me for saying this–do you think it likely that you can accomplish anything that the police cannot accomplish much more easily?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Calgary. ‘Probably not. But I do know this. I’ve got to try. Yes, I’ve got to try.’

Chapter 5

The Chief Constable’s eyebrows climbed slowly up his forehead in a vain attempt to reach the receding line of his grey hair. He cast his eyes up to the ceiling and then down again to the papers on his desk.

‘It beggars description!’ he said.

The young man whose business it was to make the right responses to the Chief Constable, said:

‘Yes, sir.’

‘A pretty kettle of fish,’ muttered Major Finney. He tapped with his fingers on the table. ‘Is Huish here?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir. Superintendent Huish came about five minutes ago.’

‘Right,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘Send him in, will you?’

Superintendent Huish was a tall, sad-looking man. His air of melancholy was so profound that no one would have believed that he could be the life and soul of a children’s party, cracking jokes and bringing pennies out of little boys’ ears, much to their delight. The Chief Constable said:

‘Morning, Huish, this is a pretty kettle of fish we’ve got here. What d’you think of it?’

Superintendent Huish breathed heavily and sat down in the chair indicated.

‘It seems as though we made a mistake two years ago,’ he said. ‘This fellow–what’s-his-name–’

The Chief Constable rustled his papers. ‘Calory–no, Calgary. Some sort of a professor. Absent-minded bloke, maybe? People like that often vague about times and all that sort of thing?’ There was perhaps a hint of appeal in his voice, but Huish did not respond. He said:

‘He’s a kind of scientist, I understand.’

‘So that you think we’ve got to accept what he says?’

‘Well,’ said Huish, ‘Sir Reginald seems to have accepted it, and I don’t suppose there’s anything would get past him.’ This was a tribute to the Director of Public Prosecutions.

‘No,’ said Major Finney, rather unwillingly. ‘If the DPP’s convinced, well I suppose we’ve just got to take it. That means opening up the case again. You’ve brought the relevant data with you, have you, as I asked?’

‘Yes, sir, I’ve got it here.’

The superintendent spread out various documents on the table.

‘Been over it?’ the Chief Constable asked.

‘Yes, sir, I went all over it last night. My memory of it was fairly fresh. After all, it’s not so long ago.’

‘Well, let’s have it, Huish. Where are we?’

‘Back at the beginning, sir,’ said Superintendent Huish. ‘The trouble is, you see, there really wasn’t any doubt at the time.’

‘No,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘It seemed a perfectly clear case. Don’t think I’m blaming you, Huish. I was behind you a hundred per cent.’

‘There wasn’t anything else really that we could think,’ said Huish thoughtfully. ‘A call came in that she’d been killed. The information that the boy had been there threatening her, the fingerprint evidence–his fingerprints on the poker, and the money. We picked him up almost at once and there the money was, in his possession.’

‘What sort of impression did he make on you at the time?’

Huish considered. ‘Bad,’ he said. ‘Far too cocky and plausible. Came reeling out with his times and his alibis. Cocky. You know the type. Murderers are usually cocky. Think they’re so clever. Think whatever they’ve done is sure to be all right, no matter how things go for other people. He was a wrong ’un all right.’

‘Yes,’ Finney agreed, ‘he was a wrong ’un. All his record goes to prove that. But were you convinced at once that he was a killer?’

The superintendent considered. ‘It’s not a thing you can be sure about. He was the type, I’d say, that very often ends up as a killer. Like Harmon in 1938. Long record behind him of pinched bicycles, swindled money, frauds on elderly women, and finally he does one woman in, pickles her in acid, gets pleased with himself and starts making a habit of it. I’d have taken Jacko Argyle for one of that type.’

‘But it seems,’ said the Chief Constable slowly, ‘that we were wrong.’

‘Yes,’ said Huish, ‘yes, we were wrong. And the chap’s dead. It’s a bad business. Mind you,’ he added, with sudden animation, ‘he was a wrong ’un all right. He may not have been a murderer–in fact he wasn’t a murderer, so we find now–but he was a wrong ’un.’

‘Well, come on, man,’ Finney snapped at him, ‘who did kill her? You’ve been over the case, you say, last night. Somebody killed her. The woman didn’t hit herself on the back of her head with the poker. Somebody else did. Who was it?’

Superintendent Huish sighed and leaned back in his chair.

‘I’m wondering if we’ll ever know,’ he said.

‘Difficult as all that, eh?’

‘Yes, because the scent’s cold and because there’ll be very little evidence to find and I should rather imagine that there never was very much evidence.’

‘The point being that it was someone in the house, someone close to her?’

‘Don’t see who else it could have been,’ said the superintendent. ‘It was someone there in the house or it was someone that she herself opened the door to and let in. The Argyles were the locking-up type. Burglar bolts on the windows, chains, extra locks on the front door. They’d had one burglary a couple of years before and it had made them burglar conscious.’ He paused and went on, ‘The trouble is, sir, that we didn’t look elsewhere at the time. The case against Jacko Argyle was complete. Of course, one can see now, the murderer took advantage of that.’

‘Took advantage of the fact that the boy had been there, that he’d quarrelled with her and that he’d threatened her?’

‘Yes. All that person had to do was to step in the room, pick up the poker in a gloved hand, from where Jacko had thrown it down, walk up to the table where Mrs Argyle was writing and biff her one on the head.’

Major Finney said one simple word:

‘Why?’

Superintendent Huish nodded slowly.

‘Yes, sir, that’s what we’ve got to find out. It’s going to be one of the difficulties. Absence of motive.’

‘There didn’t seem at the time,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘to be any obvious motive knocking about, as you might say. Like most other women who have property and a considerable fortune of their own, she’d entered into such various schemes as are legally permitted to avoid death duties. A beneficiary trust was already in existence, the children were all provided for in advance of her death. They’d get nothing further when she did die. And it wasn’t as though she was an unpleasant woman, nagging or bullying or mean. She’d lavished money on them all their lives. Good education, capital sums to start them in jobs, handsome allowances to them all. Affection, kindness, benevolence.’

‘That’s so, sir,’ agreed Superintendent Huish. ‘On the face of it there’s no reason for anyone to want her out of the way. Of course–’ He paused.

‘Yes, Huish?’

‘Mr Argyle, I understand, is thinking of remarrying. He’s marrying Miss Gwenda Vaughan, who’s acted as his secretary over a good number of years.’

‘Yes,’ said Major Finney thoughtfully. ‘I suppose there’s a motive there. One that we didn’t know about at the time. She’s been working for him for some years, you say. Think there was anything between them at the time of the murder?’

‘I should rather doubt it, sir,’ said Superintendent Huish. ‘That sort of thing soon gets talked about in a village. I mean, I don’t think there were any goings-on, as you might say. Nothing for Mrs Argyle to find out about or cut up rough about.’

‘No,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘but he might have wanted to marry Gwenda Vaughan quite badly.’

‘She’s an attractive young woman,’ said Superintendent Huish. ‘Not glamorous, I wouldn’t say that, but good-looking and attractive in a nice kind of way.’

‘Probably been devoted to him for years,’ said Major Finney. ‘These women secretaries always seem to be in love with their boss.’

‘Well, we’ve got a motive of a kind for those two,’ said Huish. ‘Then there’s the lady help, the Swedish woman. She mightn’t really have been as fond of Mrs Argyle as she appeared to be. There might have been slights or imagined slights; things she resented. She didn’t benefit financially by the death because Mrs Argyle had already bought her a very handsome annuity. She seems a nice, sensible kind of woman and not the sort you can imagine hitting anyone on the head with a poker! But you never know, do you? Look at the Lizzie Borden case.’

‘No,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘you never know. There’s no question of an outsider of any kind?’

‘No trace of one,’ said the superintendent. ‘The drawer where the money was pulled out. A sort of attempt had been made to make the room look as though a burglar had been there, but it was a very amateurish effort. Sort of thing that fitted in perfectly with young Jacko having tried to create that particular effect.’

‘The odd thing to me,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘is the money.’

‘Yes,’ said Huish. ‘That’s very difficult to understand. One of the fivers Jack Argyle had on him was definitely one that had been given to Mrs Argyle at the bank that morning. Mrs Bottleberry was the name written on the back of it. He said his mother had given the money to him, but both Mr Argyle and Gwenda Vaughan are quite definite that Mrs Argyle came into the library at a quarter to seven and told them about Jacko’s demands for money and categorically said she’d refused to give him any.’

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