‘Only one died and the other didn’t,’ Superintendent Larrabee finished for him. ‘But did Mrs. Merrill die from arsenical poisoning? That’s the crux of this matter. Looks like there’s nothing for it but to get Mrs. Merrill up.’ He said it as if his mind had been made up some time. ‘If you’d get me his nibs,’ he said to Inspector Owen, ‘I’ll have a word with him.’
Inspector Owen had a call put through to the A.C.
CHAPTER FIVE
After Detective-Superintendent Larrabee and Detective-Sergeant Pitt had left the hotel for Castlebay, Philip Vane sat over his cup of coffee considering what his next move had better be.
He had got it out of Larrabee that he was interested in Mrs. Merrill’s death six months before. He had also mentioned the illness of a certain Edward Stone. Obviously there was a link between the two. Larrabee wasn’t so talkative; it was simply that he owed Vane a favour. In a way.
So, Larrabee would find out what he could from Dr. Griffiths and perhaps Stone; but it was unlikely he would leave the inquiries there.
A chat between him and Merrill was inevitable. Vane knew that Merrill had been the dead woman’s husband. If a wife dies in suspicious circumstances, they usually start asking the husband questions. Sometimes he comes up with the answer they want. Though he and Pitt had taken the precaution of putting up at an hotel in Conway, strangers in Castlebay however discreet they acted, would be bound to attract notice. Sooner or later Merrill himself would get to know.
Larrabee would make himself known to Merrill as soon as he could. His idea would be to take him by surprise before gossip of the Scotland Yard detectives’ arrival in Castlebay got around.
Of course, Merrill could satisfy Larrabee at once that any suspicions against him regarding his wife’s death were completely unfounded. There were various ways by which he could prove his innocence, that there was nothing to it. For example, if he had been absent at significant times before or during his wife’s death; or if he could prove that he had left all attendance upon her during that time entirely to a nurse and Dr. Griffiths.
Vane was working pretty much in the dark.
What had he got to go by? Dr. Griffiths’s cryptic reference to Mrs. Merrill the night he’d caught the boss-trout, plus Scotland Yard’s interest in her death and in someone named Edward Stone’s recent illness. It was up to Vane to have something a bit more solid to go on.
The sort of information he needed could be picked up only by making inquiries on his own; and he wondered if perhaps he could think up some excuse to call upon Merrill himself. If all that he got out of him was that he had in fact been visited by the police, that at least would give Vane something. He would know for certain Merrill was under their suspicion. If so, then he should be able to decide by a bit more questioning, if Merrill had completely satisfied them.
Or if he had not.
Vane took a walk round Conway along down by the quay and watched the fishing boats and the holiday-makers who had wandered down from the town, using the warm sunny day to take out rowing boats and dinghies.
He worked it out for himself that he might as well give Larrabee the chance to see Merrill before he dropped in on him, so it wasn’t until after lunch that Vane drove over to Castlebay.
The office was a low-built, red-brick building on a corner. The clerk behind the mahogany-topped counter took his name and asked him to wait while he went into the office behind a half-glazed door. Vane heard voices and after a few moments the clerk came out and said that Mr. Merrill would see him. The clerk came from behind the counter and opened the half-glazed door again and announced him.
As the door closed behind Vane, Dick Merrill got up from behind the desk with a certain amount of puzzlement in his expression. ‘What can I do for you?’
His office was old-fashioned, with dark-panelled walls and a long low window which looked out onto the back of the premises. It had obviously been smartened up but there was still a faintly old-fashioned atmosphere about it, despite the one or two examples of contemporary furniture. The usual framed certificates hung on the walls. On the desk, which was overtidy, Vane noticed a large, silver-framed picture with its back towards him; he wondered if it was a photograph of Mrs. Merrill.
‘The fact is,’ Vane said, ‘I expect to be engaged in some business in this part of the world and I thought you may be able to help me.’
Merrill came round his desk with a steady stare from his pale eyes and indicated a leather-backed chair. Vane sat down while Merrill leaned against the mantelpiece above which was a mirror reflecting the back of his strong, tanned neck. He was wearing a nicely draped sports-coat and dark grey slacks meticulously creased above plain suede shoes. A spotted bow tie was tucked under his firmly moulded chin.
‘What sort of business?’
‘Let’s say it’s a little confidential at the moment,’ Vane said.
‘Let’s say that, if you want,’ Merrill said.
His reply wouldn’t get the conversation much further, but Vane’s object was to learn how cagey Merrill was. He supposed he might be able to decide whether for example Larrabee and Pitt had already been here before him or not.
Merrill’s eyes had narrowed a little and he turned and picked up a paper-knife and tapped it against the edge of his desk.
‘I don’t want to give too much away,’ Vane said, ‘until I know how interested you would be the business.’
‘Naturally I’m interested in most business.’
Vane got up from the chair and walked slowly over to the window and glanced out at the back walls of the houses opposite. He heard Merrill continue: ‘For instance, what exactly is your business?’
‘I’ll put my cards on the table,’ Vane said, still looking out of the window. It wasn’t much of a view, but he knew the moment to turn and give him the old frank, man-to-man look. ‘Other people’s headaches are what I’m interested in.’ This was where he turned on his heel slowly and gave him a little embarrassed grin. Merrill stared at him calculatingly.
Vane knew that Larrabee had been there before him.
‘Go on,’ Merrill said.
‘I happen to be a lawyer, in a sort of way,’ Vane said. ‘I’m up here on holiday and I learned quite by chance that a couple of detectives have been making busybodies of themselves. It may very well be,’ he went on, talking quickly, ‘that they are wasting their time. But just in case they do make something of it, I’d like you to know I am on your side.’
‘You say you’re a lawyer and you’ve got some notion that the police are making inquiries about someone or something?’
Vane didn’t tell him that he had been tipped off, naturally. He didn’t say anything. Merrill did not appear curious. There was something about the set of his head on his neck that brought to Vane’s mind’s eye the image of the Jaguar at the side of the road caught in the lights of Dr. Griffiths’s car and the two silhouettes close together. He knew then that one had been Merrill.
He thought he’d give the idea a whirl.
‘That’s quite a white Jag you have.’
Merrill never batted an eyelash. He smiled thinly. ‘You’re not fully informed,’ he said. ‘It isn’t mine.’
A lot of things built up then fast inside Vane’s skull. If the Jag wasn’t his, chances were it was the woman’s. And Dr. Griffiths had seen them together. That was what would have caused his delayed reaction thought about Mrs. Merrill. Seeing Merrill and another woman in the Jag like that. It fitted like the elusive piece in a jigsaw. Who had it been? Who was it Merrill was playing around with? Had he been playing around