Mrs Regan gave her late lodger a good character ‘as young men go,’ but with a curious reticence in her manner, which Vandam put down to personal dislike. The deceased was rather silent and uncommunicative, but was not too inconsiderate about giving trouble. He did not often drink to excess, nor did he bring undesirables to the house, though he kept pretty late hours. But principally he was a good pay. It seemed that to Mrs Regan prompt payment covered a greater multitude of sins than charity.
The landlady could not give a list of Smith’s friends. He had very few visitors, and of those who did come she seldom learned the names. She suggested that Mr Holt would be better able to help, and gave his business address, the Central Branch of the Union Bank.
Neither could she, in answer to Vandam’s veiled questionings, suggest anyone who might have had a grudge against the deceased. The Inspector was satisfied from the way she made her statement that she was being as helpful as she could, and thanked her politely.
‘I must search his rooms, I’m afraid,’ he continued. ‘Perhaps you would show me up?’
The rooms, one of which was on the first and the other on the second floor, were typical of the middle-class lodging-house, somewhat drab and dingy as to furniture, but not exactly uncomfortable. Dismissing Mrs Regan, who was becoming a trifle garrulous, Vandam set himself to make a systematic examination of the contents. In the sitting-room he was somewhat handicapped by the fact that he was dealing with two men’s belongings, but in any case he found nothing that assisted him. Nor when he went to the bedroom had he at first any better luck. Though he examined everything with the utmost minuteness here also, he came upon nothing of interest until he turned to a small metal despatch case which was on one of the shelves in the wardrobe. It was locked, but locks were but slight obstacles to Inspector Vandam, and with the aid of a skeleton key from a bunch he always carried, it soon stood open. Within were a bundle of miscellaneous papers, some receipts, a few letters, a number of bills and a bank book. The bills caused Vandam to whistle softly. Three were from jewellers; for a pearl pendant, £15 15s., a pair of earrings, £7 10s., a wristwatch, £5 12s. 6d.; several were from fashionable costumiers, among them one for a fur stole at £20, and others for gloves and flowers. Altogether they totalled to over £100.
Vandam metaphorically smacked his lips. When in a puzzling case he came on what he was pleased to term ‘the trail of the woman,’ he felt he was moving forward. That Smith was the kind of man these bills revealed him to be did not prove anything, but it was suggestive. A dispute over a woman! What more fruitful source of tragedy could be imagined? An obvious line of inquiry suggested itself. He must learn the identity of the woman or women in question, and find out if other suitors were in the field.
He picked up the bank book. A glance showed that the last balance had been struck a fortnight previously, when some £45 only stood to the deceased’s credit.
Smith, then, had been hard up. Not down and out, but still hard up. Though on his £400 a year he could no doubt have paid the £60 odd owing, an examination of the dates of the bills showed that so far from saving, he had been growing rapidly more extravagant during the month or two preceding his death.
‘Guess he wasn’t murdered for his money anyhow,’ Vandam thought with grim humour as he turned to the letters.
With one exception, these were commonplace enough, but as he read this one Vandam smiled with satisfaction. It was a curt note in a lady’s rather flamboyant hand, in which ‘J. L.’ assured ‘Dear Albert’ that she could not see him that night, but that he might take her out to dinner and a theatre on the following evening if he were good. The letter bore the date of a week previous, but no address. However, taken as an adjunct to the bills, it should lead speedily to the identification of the lady.
He replaced the papers in the box with the intention of taking them to headquarters, then, descending the stairs, he took leave of Mrs Regan and let himself out of the house.
‘Now for friend Holt,’ he thought, as he bent his steps towards the Central Branch of the Union Bank.
Mr Holt saw him at once. He had heard of the accident and seemed genuinely distressed by the tragic fate which had overtaken the sharer of his room. He scouted the suicide theory which Vandam put forward, saying that Smith was the last man in the world to take his own life. The Inspector’s questions he answered with the utmost readiness.
But, like the others interviewed that afternoon, he had but little to tell. He had gone to reside in Rotterdam Road about a year previously, Smith being already there. The two men, while not close friends, got on well enough together. They did not see very much of each other, as Smith was out a good deal, and their associates moved in different circles. Holt was, however, able to give the names of three men with whom Smith had been on fairly intimate terms. Vandam noted their addresses, intending to call on them next day. Generally Holt confirmed what the Inspector had already learned about the deceased’s character and habits.
‘With regard, then, to last night, Mr Holt,’ Vandam went on, ‘please tell me what occurred.’
‘Last night I was detained up town,’ the young fellow answered. ‘I did not get to my rooms until about 7.15. Smith had finished supper and was reading the paper when I went in. A word or two passed between us and then I had my supper. When I had about half finished Smith left the room, and I heard him go upstairs to his bedroom.’
‘Did you notice anything peculiar about his manner?’
‘Nothing, except that he seemed a little excited. He was restless, and kept jerking the paper about.’
‘He was quite sober?’
‘Absolutely. He seldom drank to excess.’
Vandam nodded.
‘And was that the last time you saw him?’
‘I saw him once again. When I had finished supper I went up to my room for a book, and as I opened the door he was just passing downstairs. He was carrying a small suitcase. I said, “Hallo, Smith! Going away?” “Only to spend the evening at Pendlebury,” he answered, “but if I miss the last train I shall probably stay overnight.” I went upstairs and Smith down, and that was the last I saw of him.’
Pendlebury was a residential suburb about four miles south of the city, with which it was connected by electric tram.
‘What time was that, Mr Holt?’
‘About ten minutes past eight.’
‘Smith didn’t say to whom he was paying the call?’
‘No.’
Inspector Vandam asked a good many more questions, but except that the dead man had seemed a little absent-minded off and on for some weeks past, he learned nothing further of interest.
It was too late on leaving the bank to begin another phase of the inquiry that night. Vandam, therefore, after a call at headquarters, turned homewards, and spent the evening writing up notes of what he had already done and considering his future procedure.
The inquest took place next day. It had been fixed for eleven o’clock, and Vandam spent the whole morning making his preparations and checking over the evidence of his witnesses. After a consultation, it had been decided to keep secret the fact that murder had been committed, in the hope that the assassin might be lulled into a feeling of security which would render him careless and more likely to give himself away.
The tragedy had created immense popular interest, and it was over a crowded court that the coroner was called upon to preside. Punctually to the minute he plunged into business. The jury were sworn, left to view the body, looking self-conscious and important, returned a trifle paler and obviously with less thought of their own dignity, and the taking of evidence began.
Signalman