8-2- 8


■


THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS


9. 9. (Eannutgtatt
Murder In The Maze
Tragedy At Ravensthorpe
Mystery At Lynden Sands
The Case With Nine Solutions
Grim Vengeance
The Eye In The Museum
The Two Ticket Puzzle
The Boathouse Riddle
The Sweepstake Murders


THE
SWEEPSTAKE
MURDERS
BY
J. J. CONNINGTON

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1932


Copyright, igji, ipj2,
By Little, Brown, and Company
All rights reserved
Published January, 1932
Printed in the United States of America


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Hell's Gape 3
II The Syndicate 16
III Ticket Number G/B: B. 8816 . ... 32
IV Disaster in the Air 44
V The Injunction 51
VI Death at Hell's Gape 67
VII Enter Inspector Severn 80
VIII The Inquest 104
IX The Motor Tragedy 139
X The Stick 159
XI A, B, C, and D 172
XII Neck or Nothing 185
XIII The Affair at the Cottage 203
XIV The Letters 214
XV Inspector Severn's Busy Morning . 228
XVI The Alibi Problem 242
XVII Viola Langdale 259
XVIII The Dial of Ahaz 276
XIX The Rest of the Case 302





THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS





CHAPTER I: HELL'S GAPE
Wendover received his winnings mechanically, pushed
back his chair a few inches, and glanced in turn at the
two remaining tables where play was still going on.
Though no bridge-fiend, he liked a good game; and
tonight, as he reflected ruefully, the game had not been
good. His partner, old Thursford, had let him down
badly once or twice. Besides, like everything else, bridge
needed a proper environment if the last drop of enjoy-
ment was to be squeezed from it. Wendover's memory
conjured up a picture of his smoking-room at Talgarth
Grange on a winter's evening: the green table under the
cunningly shaded lights; a big fire blazing on the wide
hearth; gleams on the old panelling, here and there in
the dimness; a glass of decent whiskey to hand; a thread
of blue-grey smoke spiralling up from a good cigar at
one's elbow; and, for contrast, the rain swishing or pat-
tering on the window-panes behind the heavy curtains.
Add three old friends who knew each other's play to
a nicety, and the Wendover standard of enjoyable bridge
was reached. No fear of being let down by one's partner;
no need for angry post-mortems: physical comfort and
mental concentration each reinforcing the pleasure of
the other.
Of course he could hardly refuse to help Halstead out
of his difficulty. This informal bridge-club — two tables
— met once a week at Halstead's house; and naturally,
when Halstead had a guest, an extra table had to be
got together somehow, if the visitor wasn't to be left


4
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
at a loose end. Wendover was glad enough to lend a
hand there. Still, he didn't care much for playing with
strangers; and most of the men there that night were
hardly even acquaintances of his. Wendover knew his
host well enough; but Halstead's friends came from an-
other circle and mainly from a different generation.
He had found himself landed at a table with old
Thursford, young Mackworth, and Halstead's guest,
Willenhall. Old Thursford had drunk stiff whiskey-and-
soda throughout the evening and had grown more and
more disagreeable as the alcohol dissolved his thin coat-
ing of late-acquired manners. Young Mackworth, whom
Wendover hardly knew, turned out to be a talkative
player — a type for which Wendover had no love. Will-
enhall seemed to combine a naturally good card-memory
with occasional fits of absent-mindedness, which lent
more than a touch of uncertainty to his game. It was
the first time that Wendover had come across him, but
he had taken a faint liking to this rather shy and gentle-
mannered personality. Willenhall's touch of diffidence
was a pleasant contrast to old Thursford's whiskey-fed
boorishness.
When Wendover, having noted the progress of the
games at the other tables, brought his eyes back to his
own, he found Willenhall patiently waiting to attract
his attention.
"Halstead tells me that you're an authority on the
sights worth seeing, round about here, Mr. Wendover;
and he advised me to ask you about some of them. That
kind of thing interests me . . ."
He paused, as though leaving Wendover to take up
the subject. Wendover had no hesitation. Halstead was
comparatively a newcomer to the district and took little
interest in its antiquities; but Wendover had been born


hell's gape
s
and bred on the ground. Anchored by his small estate,
he had been content to devote himself mainly to the good
of the countryside, and he prided himself that there was
little he did not know about places or people within a
radius of thirty miles. He was by no means averse to
letting a stranger see that there were things worth a visit
in the neighbourhood.
"What's your particular line of interest?" he asked.
"Archaeology, geology, the picturesque, or something
in the historical line? We ought to be able to find some-
thing for you, especially if you don't mind a walk or two
off the beaten track."
Willenhall made a gesture of polite deprecation.
"I'm not a specialist in anything, I'm afraid. Just in-
quisitive, with a liking for seeing what's worth seeing in
a district. I carry a kodak round with me and snap any-
thing that takes my fancy. Architecture, natural curi-
osities, geological features: all that sort of thing's grist
to my mill."
Wendover reflected for a moment or two while he
searched his memory for curiosities. Old Thursford, ob-
viously bored by the turn of the conversation, poured out
another half-glass of whiskey for himself. Mackworth
got up and walked over to the next table to watch the
play.
"Let's see," Wendover began ruminatively. "If you
happen to be up in the Heatingham direction, you'll find
the remains of a fair-sized abbey there. You might try
your camera on that. One fragment forms the south wall
of the present village church. Some other bits of walls
and an archway standing by itself are in fair condition.
The place was a Benedictine Priory, founded not long
after the Conquest, they say; but these remains belong
to a transitional style: Norman arcades outside and a


6
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Pointed arcade inside. You'll see when you get there.
The key of the place is kept at the shoemaker's shop in
the village; you've only got to ask for it and he'll give it
to you."
Willenhall took out a pocket-book and jotted down
the particulars.
"That's just the kind of thing I'm looking for," he
said, gratefully. "Can you think of anything else?"
"Let's see . . . Oh, if you want something to photo-
graph, there's a circle of standing stones out on the
Greenthorpe road, on the right-hand side, about a quar-
ter of a mile after you pass the Stag Inn. You can't miss
them. They call them the Twelve Apostles, but you
needn't hunt for the twelfth; it's gone long ago, before
my time."
"Thanks very much. By the way, have you any caves
or things of that sort? I have a flash-light apparatus, and
I rather like exploring caves, apart from photographing
them."
Wendover shook his head discouragingly.
"There used to be one rather good limestone cave:
Jack's Hole, they call it. But it's ruined now, unfor-
tunately. A lot of beanfeasters went up there one day —
a lot of scum decanted from a motorbus. I suppose it
was rainy, or they found time hanging on their hands.
Anyhow, they spent the afternoon amusing themselves
by shying stones at the stalactites and generally doing
as much damage as they could. Wrecked the place, prac-
tically, so far as all the finer tracery was concerned. It's
hardly the sight it once was."
"I don't think I'd care to see it if it's in that state,"
Willenhall confessed. "A bit depressing to see damage of
that sort, when one thinks of how many centuries it took
to build the thing up. I hate vandalism."


hell's gape
7
"So do I," Wendover agreed heartily. "Let's see,
what else is there that you'd find worth your while? Oh,
yes, if you like natural curiosities you shouldn't miss
seeing Hell's Gape. That is, if you don't mind a bit of
a walk. It can't be got at by car."
"Hell's Gape?" Willenhall echoed. "That sounds in-
teresting. What is it?"
"Oh, you needn't expect brimstone," Wendover
warned him with a smile. "The name sounds suspiciously
like one of these local corruptions, the more so since there
isn't any picturesque legend tacked on to the thing.
Hell's Gape was the original form, I expect. It's a geo-
logical curiosity, a big chasm in some volcanic rock. I've
never seen anything quite like it, elsewhere. Quite worth
seeing. I'd certainly advise you to go and have a look
at it."
"Hell's Gape," Willenhall jotted down. "I'll make a
point of seeing it. I'm likely to have some time on my
hands soon. It seems Halstead will have to leave me to
my own devices; he's got some business in hand which
has turned up unexpectedly."
Wendover had smiled at some thought which crossed
his mind, and he felt it polite to account for his amuse-
ment.
"Hell's Gape almost led to ill-feeling in the district,
at one time," he explained. "The local Field Club visited
it one day, and it led to ructions among them. If it won't
bore you, I'll explain the points and you can verify them
when you go up to it yourself. It seems that the Gape is
at the edge of a terrace of volcanic rock formed by a
lava-flow in the old days. Some time or other, a split
formed near the edge of the terrace, so that this chasm
opened up between the main bulk of the terrace and the
outer slice. This is what I mean."


8
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
He picked up the pack of cards, and held them upright
on the table.
"That represents the original terrace of rock. Now if
I let loose the last few cards at one end of the pack,
naturally they tend to fall away and come down flat on
the table."
He suited the action to the word.
"Obviously, if anything stopped the fall of the cards
after they'd begun to tilt away from the main pack,
you'd get a chasm on a small scale between them and
the main pack."
"Clearly," Willenhall confirmed.
"Well, as I was saying, the local Field Club went up
there one day to have a look round. It's a fearsome-
looking place. The cleft's about sixty or seventy feet
deep if you measure down the north face. Just a sheer
cliff from top to bottom on that side. You could flick the
ash off your cigar at the top and see it hit the rocks at
the foot. The chasm's quite narrow, only fifteen or
twenty feet wide at the most; and at one place it nar-
rows to about three feet or so. It's light enough at the
one end, but as you go down it and the walls get close
together, it grows gloomy. I don't know why, but it al-
ways struck me as a disagreeable place on a dull day.
Kind of entrance-to-the-dragon's-den look about it,
somehow. It's certainly impressive to clamber along
some three hundred feet of it and see the strip of sky
getting narrower overhead as you go forward."
Wendover paused to light a cigarette.
"The detached bit has been weathered badly in places.
The top of it is a series of huge jagged fangs of rock
jutting up from the main body of the fragment. Very
picturesque. You ought to take a few snapshots of it
from various viewpoints. However, I just wanted to give


hell's gape
9
you some notion of it. The President of the Field Club
had his ideas about it all cut and dried. By his way of it,
the ground under the outer edge of the original terrace
had subsided a bit and then, when its support was with-
drawn, the rock had cracked lyider the strain, forming
the chasm. And to back that, he pointed out that the in-
dentations on one side of the chasm corresponded with
the bosses on the other. He was rather a pompous old
bird, and he laid all this off as if it were a bit of divine
revelation. It seemed all right, you know. But unfortu-
nately one fellow in the party spotted that the bosses on
the slice were higher than the corresponding indenta-
tions on the main block, which meant that the slice had
been heaved up, somehow, when the chasm was formed,
instead of slipping downward. Earthquake shock was
his explanation. They began to take sides on the ques-
tion; and when these scientific fellows get across each
other they seem to lose their tempers. Anyhow, they
came home in two different parties; and it was a long
time before things cooled down. So if you find a third
explanation, I hope you won't bruit it abroad and start
the whole affair over again."
"I'll certainly pay the place a visit," Willenhall de-
cided. "It must be well worth seeing, from what you
say. How do you get to it?"
"Oh, if you let me know when you think of going up,
I'll give you directions, so that you'll have them fresh in
your mind. There's no use explaining it just now. Let's
see if I can think of any other things you ought to see."
Wendover was able to remember a number of other
points of interest in the neighbourhood, all of which the
visitor noted down on his list. They were interrupted by
the stoppage of play at the next table, where an animated
post-mortem broke out between two of the players.


10
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Wendover glanced across with a sardonic look on his
face.
"It's a curious thing," he commented. "The people
who seem keenest on post-mortems as an educational
pastime are usually the ones who learn least from them.
They seem to do a lot of talking, but mighty little listen-
ing. Oh, by the way, Blackburn!"
A middle-aged man at the next table swung round
in his chair.
"Yes?"
"Care for a round on Tuesday?"
Blackburn shook his head.
"Sorry. I've got to get across to the Continent. Fix it
up later on, perhaps?"
"Going by air, as usual?" Wendover inquired, more
from politeness than for information. Blackburn, he
knew, had a preference for flying when he had to cross
the Channel.
"Yes. I can't stand the sea-passage. I expect to be
back again a week today. Book you for a round the day
after that, if you like."
Wendover nodded his agreement.
The third table had broken up, and one of the players
came over from it. A physiognomist would have detected
a faint but unmistakable resemblance between him and
the old man sitting at Wendover's table. The short,
sturdy figure; the pale-blue eyes, cold and yet watery-
looking; the predatory curve of the rather thick nose;
the full cheeks and broad jaw; the crop of coarse hair,
fair in the one and silver in the other: there the likeness
was plain enough. In mouth and figure they differed.
Under his heavy moustache, old Thursford's full lips
betrayed a decline which had not yet showed itself on
his nephew's face; and as he wallowed in his chair he


12
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
ter. You ought to be damned grateful, damned grateful,
for all that Providence did for you. You didn't do much
for yourself, let me tell you."
He stared with tipsy malignity at the younger man and
seemed on the verge of adding further insults. Appar-
ently he thought better of it, however; for instead, he
picked up his tumbler and drank clumsily. Willenhall,
obviously uncomfortable, fiddled with his pencil and
made some pretence of being engrossed in his pocket-
book entries. Wendover, with a blank expression, ignored
the whole affair. Harry Thursford made no reply to the
tirade, though the muscles of his jaw obviously tightened
under the skin. It seemed clear to Wendover that scenes
of this sort must be common enough between the two
men in private. Harry's expression suggested that he was
inured to his uncle's peculiar manners.
Fortunately there came a diversion. In ordinary cir-
cumstances, Mackworth's company was not altogether
welcomed except by those who shared the same hobby.
In his private life, his primary interest was wireless; and
it was impossible to be in his presence for five minutes
without learning that fact in the plainest possible man-
ner. Even in that short time he generally managed to
make clear that only one side of broadcasting had any
attraction for him. He belonged, in fact, to the group of
humanity designated as "dial-twisters," "station-
hunters" and "DX-hounds." Programmes, as such, had
only the slightest interest for him; in fact, there was no
record of his ever having listened to one for an hour on
end. What he sought in wireless was the joy of reaching
out over the world for a signal. A fragment from a poli-
tician's speech, the weather report from Stockholm, jazz
from Poland, a bar or two from an opera in Rome, a
few words of a Berlin talk, or the midnight chimes from


14
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
in the Balkans — Yugoslavia, if that helps. . . . And
now we'll switch over on to the long waves and try for a
couple of Russian stations, just to let you hear what the
set can do in that direction."
It had strained Wendover's politeness to its limits to
sit through the remainder of the evening; and since then
he had evaded Mackworth whenever he could manage
to do so. Tonight, however, on seeing him approach their
group, he was almost prepared to hail him with joy as
a possible saviour of an awkward situation.
The unconscious rescuer played his role well. Com-
ing up to the table, he tapped young Thursford on the
shoulder.
"How's your wireless doing, these days, Harry?" he
demanded, his face lighting up as he saw the chance of
airing his hobby after the enforced abstention while play
was going on.
"Oh, so-so," Harry answered, with a wary glance
towards his uncle. "I picked up St. Louis last night on
275 metres. Got KDKA, too, in a storm of atmospherics.
Heard the announcer all right, though, at one stage."
Mackworth's white teeth showed in a smile of mock-
pity.
"No good trying for America on the medium waves
nowadays. It's a pure waste of time. What you want,
Harry, is a short-wave set. It brings in the stuff as clear
as a bell. Look here! Last night I got W9XF, W3XAL,
W8XK, W2XAF, and W2XAD. Hardly any fading at
all."
"Change from the last time I sat up to listen to your
set, then. Nothing but fading, that shot."
"I can't help it, if you're a Jonah," Mackworth pro-
tested. "I got the whole of that lot on the loudspeaker,
anyhow. Buenos Aires, too, very clear indeed. And I've
1


hell's gape
IS
struck something worth hearing on the twenty metre
band: two amateurs using C.W. One's in Macao;
t'other's in Guam. A bit of a thrill to pick them up."
Harry Thursford nodded his agreement. This last
item seemed to have stirred his curiosity.
"All right! I'll drop in, one of these nights, and give
your set another chance. Fix up the date later on. I'm
a bit busy just now."
He took the opportunity to edge out of the group, lest
his uncle should be moved to a fresh denunciation.
Mackworth, in search of new converts, turned to the
tall stranger at his elbow.
"Are you keen on wireless?" he demanded.
Willenhall shook his head.
"Not a bit, I'm afraid," he confessed, politely. "I
haven't even a crystal set."
"You miss a lot," Mackworth said, in genuine com-
miseration. "You ought to take it up. Don't judge it
from listening to other people's sets. I know I wasn't
keen on the thing until I got a set of my own. Still, if
you'd care to listen to mine . . . any night you like?"
WillenhalPs cautiously vague reply committed him
to nothing.


CHAPTER II: THE SYNDICATE
"Going, are you, Mackworth?" the host demanded, as
the wireless fanatic wished him goodnight. "Stop a
minute or two, will you? Care to take a ticket in a
raffle?"
Mackworth shook his head.
"Can't stop," he explained. "There's something on in
Schenectady this evening that I want to hear."
"You don't mean to pretend you're going to listen to
a bit of the programme?" Halstead demanded. "That
won't wash, you know. We know your habits."
Mackworth fidgeted and consulted his watch.
"I can't stay, really, Halstead. America's coming over
extra well this evening. I picked up a station or two
before I came here. I really must go."
"Oh, all right, then."
When Mackworth had gone, Halstead turned to the
remainder of his guests.
"Here's a sporting proposition," he said, raising his
voice so as to attract the attention of everyone in the
room. "Blackburn tells me he's got some tickets for the
big Sweep and he's willing to let some of you in, if you
like. Anybody care to subscribe? They're ten-shilling
tickets, you know."
With a gesture, Blackburn stopped his host and took
the explanation on his own shoulders.
"The fact is: I've got a few more tickets than I actually
want for myself. What I thought was: Why not form a
small syndicate? Let someone else into the thing. Nat-


THE SYNDICATE
17
urally, I want to stand in myself. Say nine tickets among
the lot of us. If one of the nine tickets wins, we divide
in equal shares. That seems fairer than selling a separate
ticket to each man, doesn't it?"
He exhibited a small book of tickets as he spoke.
Wendover, out of curiosity, reached over and secured it.
"As a magistrate, I suppose I ought to confiscate these
things," he pointed out with a twinkle in his eye.
"Strictly illegal, if I'm not mistaken. How did you man-
age to import them into this innocent country? I had
an impression that the Customs officials were question-
ing everybody on landing here, and confiscating any
tickets they could find in the luggage."
"They didn't confiscate these," Blackburn pointed
out. "I'm not going to explain how I got them. And if
your conscience is stirring, perhaps I'd better
have . . ."
He held out his hand for the tickets, but Wendover
stepped back slightly out of reach and waved him
aside.
"I've never seen one of these things before. Don't be
afraid, Blackburn; I just want a glance at them."
He flipped the booklet open and began to read frag-
ments from the wording on the green tickets inside.
"'THE DERBY, to be run at Epsom Downs,' and so
forth. . . . 'For prizes, see reverse.' . . . 'To be drawn
in public under the supervision of General Somebody-
or-other ... on May 30th.' ... Ah! Observe this
caution. 'Subscribe only through a Business House,
Bank, Friend, or Trusted Acquaintance whose address
and credentials are known to you.' Where are your
credentials, Blackburn? . . . 'Ticket participates in
Draw only when Counterfoil received with Remittance.'
... A neat combination of soldierly brevity and com-
■-


18
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
mercial caution, that . . . And now what about the
other side?"
He turned over the leaf and continued.
"I see they've gone back to the big-prize system again,
this time. . . . 'After deduction of audited expenses, as
sanctioned under the Act, 75% of the money received
from the sale of tickets, calculated under the Act, will be
distributed as Prizes. The balance, 25%, will be paid to
the Hospitals.' . . . That ought to be a tidy sum of
money?"
Blackburn nodded.
"There's a big rush at the last moment, usually," he
said. "The latest estimates put the total cash from ticket
sales at well over £2,000,000. That means a million and
a half in the Prize Fund, roughly."
"Phew!" Wendover ejaculated. "That'll be a nice
nest-egg. Now let's see. The drawer of the winning horse
gets 30% of the prize-money; the second horse's ticket
takes 15%; and the third horse brings in 7}4%. Why,
on that basis, the fellow who draws the winner will
scoop in something like half-a-million sterling! For the
second horse, it's a quarter of a million; and even a
ticket for the third horse would be worth over £100,000."
He ran his eye down the provisions on the back of
the ticket.
"'Drawers of all other horses not declared forfeit for
on or before the Tuesday of the week before the Race
divide
"It works out somewhere round about £2000. Per-
haps a bit under that figure, for each horse drawn,"
Blackburn volunteered. "Besides that, there are three
hundred and sixty cash prizes in the Draw, each worth
about £1500 or so."
"And then there's your little commission for peddling


THE SYNDICATE
19
the tickets," Wendover pointed out slyly. "I see it men-
tioned here. What does it mean to you if you happen
to sell a ticket for a horse that gets placed?"
"A thousand."
"No wonder you've turned ticket-smuggler at that
rate," Wendover commented. "Now let's see some more.
Ah! 'In any event the sum of £25,000 is guaranteed as
a minimum, and has been deposited at the Bank of . . .
and so forth ... in the names of the Trustees.' Con-
sidering the way money poured in for the earlier Sweeps,
that's a very safe offer. H'm! Here's something else. . . .
'Prizewinners are the persons named on the Counter-
foils drawn. Should the Race not take place, the Prize-
Money (less the Cash Prizes) will be divided equally
amongst the drawers of horses; the Cash Prizes will be
distributed as drawn.' That seems fair enough. Then
there's a warning. 'Prizes unclaimed within six months
will become forfeit to the Hospitals.' And, finally, 'Ac-
knowledgments of subscriptions will be sent to sellers
for issue to Subscribers. Subscribers should notify Hos-
pitals Committee direct of failure to receive acknowl-
edgment. Draw lists will be posted to "Sellers" abroad
and Particulars issued to the Press of all countries.' By
Jove, they must have a big staff to tackle that part of
the thing."
Wendover handed the book of tickets back to Black-
burn.
"Well, I don't mind standing in with the rest, if you're
in earnest about it."
"I'm a bit surprised at you," said a nervous, disap-
proving voice from the group. "I don't think a Justice
of the Peace should lend his countenance to a thing
that's known to be illegal — like this."
Wendover's eyebrows lifted a trifle. He knew his critic


20
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
only slightly, and he resented the implied aspersion on
his conduct.
"What's the harm, Mr. Kirkham?" he asked in a
lazy tone. "I've taken a ticket in the Derby Sweepstake
at one of my clubs every year since I was elected. No-
body ever suggested that there was anything wrong with
that. The police never troubled us in the matter, nor do
they interfere with the other half-million Derby Sweeps
that are run every year. I don't see any moral differ-
ence between my club sweep and this one, except that
in this case part of the money goes to hospitals. The fact
that the prizes are bigger in this one has nothing to do
with the case on the moral side, surely."
"Lotteries are illegal," snapped Kirkham.
"So are games of chance," Wendover pointed out. "I
saw you get a grand slam tonight, which meant that you
made a few pence on the game. It was pure chance that
the deal gave you anything higher than a six in your
hand; and then no play on earth would have let you
make your grand slam. On that basis, bridge is a game
of chance like any other, and yet you're quite content
to collect your winnings at the end of it. These distinc-
tions are a bit too fine for me."
"There's no resemblance between these cases," Kirk-
ham objected angrily.
Wendover refused to argue further. Instead, he turned
to Blackburn as though tacitly inviting him to go on
with his proposals.
"Well, apparently Mr. Kirkham doesn't want to
join," Blackburn acknowledged suavely. "Anyone else
care to take a hand?"
"I'm going to join," old Peter Thursford broke in,
with a glance of vinous contempt in Kirkham's direc-
tion. "I'm not one of your mealy-mouthed lot. I've done


THE SYNDICATE
21
a bit of gambling myself, in my day; and I never thought
the worse of myself for doing it. No, never a bit the
worse, and you can take my word for it. What's wrong
with gambling, if the stakes are on the table, eh? What's
wrong with it? A lot of old wives' chatter, all this sort of
talk. D'you think you're a better man nor me? Eh? Do
you? You don't? Then what're you setting up as a judge
for? What right've you to go putting on airs, eh? That's
what I ask. That's a plain question, isn't it? What've
you ever done that gives you the right to be superior,
eh? Just tell us that, will you?"
He applied himself to his tumbler again. Kirkham
had nothing of the stuff of martyrs in his composition.
It was one thing to register what he thought was a gentle-
manly protest. It was quite another affair to be involved
in an argument with a tipsy man. With a glance at his
host, he seized the opportunity to retreat from the room
while Peter Thursford was busy with his whiskey.
Blackburn glanced round the remainder of the party.
Harry Thursford caught his eye.
"I don't mind, if you want a Jonah in your syndicate.
I've never drawn a winning ticket yet, in anything."
"Right. You, Checkley?"
Wendover studied the avaricious mouth of Checkley
with a certain sardonic interest. Quite plainly it dis-
played the mental conflict in Checkley's mind. A ten
bob sprat might catch a fortune; but then ten bob was
ten bob. Was it worth it? Wendover had no more than
a nodding acquaintance with Checkley, but the man's
reputation for meanness was common property. A second
or two passed. Would he risk it?
"How much does each of us stand to win if we draw
the winner?" Checkley demanded doubtfully, as though
to gain further time to make up his mind.


22
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"About £50,000 apiece if we all go in," Blackburn
drawled, with slow emphasis upon the figures. Evidently
he also was amused by the internal struggle.
The concrete statement seemed to tip the scale in
Checkley's mind.
"All right, then. I don't mind risking ten bob."
Blackburn nodded and turned to a young man whose
rather apathetic air was belied by the alertness of his
eyes.
"You, Coniston?"
"Oh, count me in, certainly."
"Halstead, what about you?"
Halstead shook his head.
"No. I've sworn off all that sort of thing years ago.
No moral scruples in the matter; but I've grown sick of
holding dud tickets. My sanguine soul always counted
on winning something, and the bump of the disappoint-
ment rankled a bit, if you see what I mean. One gets
tired of seeing dreams go west, even if they're only little
ones."
"Count you out, then."
Blackburn ran his eyes over the group, singling out
those who had not yet spoken. His glance rested on two
hot brown eyes under a shock of dark red hair.
"You, Falgate?"
"Oh, all right," Falgate agreed morosely. "It seems a
pity to stand out."
"Mr. Willenhall, would you care to take a share?"
Willenhall blinked, as though he had not expected to
be invited and had been taken by surprise at the re-
quest.
"Certainly, if you wish it," he answered in a tone
which only his politeness saved from being one of com-
plete indifference.


THE SYNDICATE 23
"That leaves you, Redhill," Blackburn pointed out.
Tommie Redhill was young Thursford's closest friend.
"Oh, count me in," he agreed at once. "If Harry
scooped the pool and I were left out in the cold, things
would never be the same. He'd suspect me all the time
of wanting to borrow a fiver."
Blackburn had jotted down each name as it came in;
and he now took the precaution of reading over the
list: —
"Wendover, two Thursfords, Checkley, Coniston,
Falgate, Mr. Willenhall, Redhill — and myself, of
course. That makes a syndicate of nine. You won't
join, Halstead? Ten of us would make evener figures
Save calculation, if we happen to win. No?"
Halstead shook his head with a smile.
"No, I'm done with sweepstakes, really."
"Very good, then. We ought to have some sort of
agreement, I think. Only businesslike to put it in writing
now."
He went across to a table, tore a couple of sheets from
a marker, and found the backs blank.
"This will serve. Now how about the wording? How
would this do? 'The undersigned agree that the Derby
Sweepstake tickets numbered G/B:B.8811 to G/B:
B.8819 inclusive are to be held jointly by them and
that any Prize won by any one or more of these tickets
shall be equally divided among the holders when the
prize-money is distributed. Counterfoils are to be filled
in in the name of . . .' There are nine of us: call it the
Novem Syndicate? That's not likely to be duplicated by
anyone else."
"As well that as anything else," Wendover acquiesced.
"It doesn't much matter what you call it, since we're not
likely to win anything."


24
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"That's agreed then?" Blackburn inquired. And as no
one dissented he continued his draft. " 'In the name of
the Novem Syndicate.' That's that. Now I'll read it over
again. If no one objects then, it stands."
He repeated the phraseology hurriedly, but nobody
seemed to find anything in the wording to criticise.
Then Blackburn again bent over the table and made
a fair copy of the document in his precise hand-
writing.
"I suggest we sign both copies. One of them can be
kept by a member of the Syndicate. I propose Mr.
Wendover. He's the only one of us who's a J.P. so that
makes the selection easy — and appropriate, since we
can all shelter behind him if the Law gets busy. The
second copy I'll hand to Halstead to put in his safe. He's
a disinterested party — a sort of stakeholder for us.
Are we agreed?"
"That seems fair enough," Jack Coniston confirmed.
"A lot of fuss about nothing, though, it seems to me.
We're not likely to catch much."
He took out a pen and signed each of the docu-
ments. The rest of the new Syndicate followed in turn.
When all had signed, Blackburn handed one copy to
Halstead and passed the other to Wendover, who placed
it in his pocket.
Willenhall had watched the proceedings with an ex-
pression which blended detachment and curiosity. It
seemed as though he had been speculating on some ques-
tion or other; and when he broke the silence in a faintly
diffident tone, the trend of his reflections betrayed it-
self.
"So if one of our tickets wins the first prize, we shall
get about £50,000 each. It sounds a big sum." He swung
round to Checkley. "Er . . . Mr. Checkley, what would


THE SYNDICATE
25
fifty thousand pounds mean to you, if you don't mind
my putting the question?"
Checkley, taken aback by the sudden inquiry, stared
resentfully at his interlocutor almost as though Will-
enhall had been trying to borrow money.
"What does it mean to me? It means £50,000, of
course. What else would it mean?"
"Exactly," Willenhall confirmed in his gentle voice.
"What else would it mean? You won't spend your money
before you get it, evidently, Mr. Checkley, even in im-
agination."
A rather wistful smile took away any possible offence
from his remark.
"And you, Mr. Coniston, what would £50,000 mean to
you, if we happened to win?"
"I could buy a racing car I've had my eye on," Conis-
ton answered with a grin which showed that he took no
umbrage at the question. "Or go in for aeroplaning on
my own, instead of having to hire a bus at so much a
hop. Run round a bit. Give the girls a treat. It wouldn't
run the length of a floating palace with copper funnels,
but one might manage to pick up something more mod-
erate in the yacht line. I'd have a good time and I expect
some other people would have a good time as well, at
my expense."
Willenhall nodded reflectively, as though he were
weighing up the value of Jack Coniston's ideas. He
turned to Peter Thursford.
"And you, Mr. Thursford? What does £50,000 sug-
gest to you, if you don't mind telling us?"
Rather unexpectedly, old Peter seemed pleased at be-
ing questioned. He hitched himself forward heavily in his
chair and tapped the table to emphasise his opinion.
"What does £50,000 mean to me, eh? What does it


26
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
mean to me? Well, some old fellow or other — you'll
remember his name, maybe; it's slipped my memory —
anyhow, he used to crack up Wine, Woman, and Song.
Huh! Song? He can keep his songs — a lot o' ruddy
caterwauling, songs are. Wine? Whiskey's good enough
for me; it's all a man wants. But women? He was right
there; he was dead right. £50,000 would buy a lot o'
those goods. Lot o' bluff to be had for £50,000,1 can tell
you. But you want to be careful. Some o' your money
buys women — and when you've bought 'em, they spend
the rest of your money for you, if they get the chance.
That's how it goes, unless you keep a tight hand on 'em.
Well, no woman ever got the better o' me; you can kiss
the Book on that!"
His last sentence seemed to recall something which
set him wheezing and chuckling in his chair.
Willenhall gave him no chance to expatiate further.
His glance caught young Redhill, who was examining
old Thursford with an amused curiosity not untinged
with contempt. As Willenhall's gaze fell on him, Redhill
looked up.
"You want my pipe-dream to add to the bunch?" he
said in an indifferent tone, returning Willenhall's glance
with expressionless eyes. "Wasn't it Rockefeller who
said that a poor man with only $100,000 needn't despair
of making money if he gave his mind to it — or words
more or less to that effect? So I suppose even a poor man
with only £50,000 might make something out of it,
either in politics or the financial side, if he set about
things properly. It might be interesting, in some ways.
I've often wondered what it feels like to be a big pot."
Wendover began to feel his liking for Willenhall fad-
ing bit by bit as this catechising went on. It dawned on
him that probably the man collected psychological data


THE SYNDICATE
27
in the same spirit as he took snapshots of out-of-the-way
objects on the countryside. He hankered after curiosi-
ties of the mind, perhaps, as well as after gazing-stocks
in the physical world. By Wendover's rather simple code,
this probing and questioning seemed to go more than a
little over the bounds of good taste. That sort of thing
might be all right in some circumstances; but for a
stranger to do it . . . Unconsciously, Wendover shook
his head. Not the sort of thing he'd have thought of do-
ing.
As Redhill finished his impersonally-worded contri-
bution, Falgate's eyes turned to Willenhall with an ex-
pression in which a tinge of hostility seemed to lurk.
"Me?" he said, without waiting to be asked. "I'm not
strong on pipe-dreams. But if £50,000 comes my way,
it'll be useful enough to . . . extend my business a bit."
The almost imperceptible halt in the last sentence was
enough to catch Wendover's attention. He had heard
rumours. It was not for extension that Falgate needed
the money. It was to shore up a business already totter-
ing under the strain of the trade slump. And there was
more behind it than that, if all tales were true. Falgate
was an impulsive devil, always ready to take the quick
way out. A sinking business coupled with heavy and
injudicious speculations may land a man in Queer Street.
£50,000 would come very handily to Falgate at this mo-
ment. He had almost blurted that out in so many words,
and had just managed to change the meaning at the last
moment. That was a fair index of how near the sur-
face it lay in his thoughts.
And Falgate seemed to have other troubles on his
shoulders — the kind that even £50,000 can't cure. That
Langdale girl . . . Wendover almost shook his head
again. He preferred not to poke his nose into things


28
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
which weren't his affair; and the business of Viola
Langdale was one which he had left alone, except for
stray talk which he could not help hearing. But Fal-
gate's views on Viola's engagement to Harry Thursford
would perhaps have given Willenhall some extra curi-
osities of psychology to add to his collection, if he could
have got them.
WillenhalPs eye travelled round the group until it
lighted on the seller of the tickets. Blackburn shrugged
his shoulders at the mute interrogation.
"I've only one pipe-dream. I'm not so keen as I was.
I'd be glad to drop out of the race: settle down. If one
had £50,000, the tax collector could singe one's feathers
pretty deep without hurting the skin. That's how I look
at it."
Willenhall's nod suggested that he sympathised with
this view more than with the others.
"And you?" he asked, turning to Harry Thursford.
"What would I want if I had £50,000?" Harry specu-
lated, with a grin which showed perfect teeth. "Why,
more, of course. Nobody's ever content with what they
have; and I don't suppose I'd be different from the
rest."
"That's common sense, anyhow," Checkley broke in.
He had been listening with scarcely-veiled contempt
to the various opinions he had heard, and now his thin-
lipped mouth curved in a faint grimace of derision.
"You've all been talking as if £50,000 capital meant
an Arabian Nights' dream. When you take off the taxa-
tion, it comes to an income well under £2,000 a year.
That's all. Of course you'd want more if you could
get it."
Something in the tone annoyed Wendover.
"Why?" he demanded.


THE SYNDICATE
29
Checkley was taken completely aback.
"Do you mean to say you wouldn't want more?" he
asked, not taking the trouble to conceal his scepticism.
"What would I get out of it?" Wendover retorted. "As
I am at present, I have the things that suit me. I smoke
the tobacco I like. I wouldn't change for a more ex-
pensive brand simply because I had a bigger income.
Why should I? And other things are much the same. I've
no wish to alter my scale. It suits me. I'd have more
money to give away, if I wanted to. That's the only
difference, so far as I can see. Nothing to get excited
about, surely."
"We haven't all got your income," Checkley rejoined
rudely.
"That doesn't alter the fact that your generalisation
isn't sound," Wendover answered, placidly.
"Then why do you take a ticket?" Checkley per-
sisted.
"Why do I take a ticket in my club sweep? Because
it gives me some slight amusement. It's always interest-
ing to see if one draws a horse or a blank. One doesn't
expect to win. Nobody would be more surprised than I,
if I did win. It might even be embarrassing, from my
point of view, if all one hears is true about these things."
"Anybody's welcome to embarrass me on these
terms," Checkley scoffed. "There's a lot of embarrass-
ment in £50,000, isn't there?"
Wendover was saved from a reply. The door opened;
a fair-haired girl in an opera-cloak came in. For a mo-
ment she seemed dazzled by the lights; then, after a
rather cavalier greeting to her host, she turned to her
brother.
"I dropped in to pick you up, Harry, in case you
hadn't got the two-seater tinkered up."


30
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Wendover noticed her cool scrutiny of her uncle. It
seemed as though she were gauging his condition. Ob-
viously she was used to seeing him in his present state
and was merely calculating how much trouble he might
give before they got him away.
"It was only a sooted plug, just as I told you," Harry
Thursford explained. "I knew it would be all right."
"Well, if it's here, that simplifies things. I've got Viola
and Di in the car outside, and it was going to be a bit
awkward. You can take Viola to her hutch in the two-
seater."
Then Wendover heard her add in an undertone:
"What's he like tonight? Di can sit beside me in
front; and we'll shove him in by himself at the back.
That'll be O.K."
"You'd better manage him," Harry suggested in the
same tone. "He's got across me tonight. He's at the
'little ragged boy' stage."
It seemed a known index, for Enid Thursford's brows
knitted at the sound of it.
"As bad as that? Oh, well, Di can sit beside me, in
case he's in one of his enterprising moods. I do get sick
of him."
She turned to old Thursford, and raised her voice.
"Come along, Uncle. I've got Diana and Viola out in
the car. Don't keep them waiting."
At the sound of the girls' names, Peter Thursford's
watery eyes brightened. He hoisted himself laboriously
from his chair.
"Quite right. Mustn't keep 'em waiting. Nice girls."
He walked off, heavily but quite steadily, towards the
cloak-room. His example gave the impetus to a break-up
of the party. Wendover, as he moved off with the rest,
could not help reflecting on the kind of life Enid Thurs-


THE SYNDICATE
31
ford must lead under the roof of her uncle. He liked to
think the best of people; but old Thursford seemed to
have no redeeming points. No wonder a decent girl was
sickened by him. And even a decent girl was bound to
be coarsened by continual contact with him. Wendover
thought of the cynical way Enid had reviewed things and
the crudeness of the bait she had flung out on the spur
of the moment in order to get the old man off the prem-
ises without argument. A rum view of life a sensitive girl
would pick up in that environment. And it wasn't likely
she would remain sensitive for long. There was no es-
cape for her, except at the cost of giving up the things
which a young girl naturally wanted. Enid Thursford
had no money. Evidently she preferred to hold on to
what she had, even if she had to pay for it by living in
her uncle's house.


CHAPTER III: TICKET NUMBER G/B:B.8816
With an income more than sufficient for his simple
tastes, no profession to occupy him, and an easy-going
temperament, Wendover's chief temptation was to idle
away his time. It was so fatally easy to spend the day
pottering about with trivial affairs and to end up in the
evening with nothing definite to show for the wasted
hours. He was shrewd enough to recognise that this sort
of life, pleasant as it was, would lead him in the end to
mere boredom. The best safeguard against that was to
institute a definite routine which would keep him up to
the mark. His natural tendency towards order and tidi-
ness, both mental and physical, helped to ease the
pressure of his self-imposed system. He never became
a slave to his time-table, but he came to a stage when
the recurring things of the day were always taken in a
certain order.
When breakfasting alone, he made it a rule to read
his letters first, and then turn to his newspaper. A friend,
obviously, was of more importance than the Dalai Lama
or the affairs of Mozambique. This morning he picked
up the pile of letters and turned over the envelopes
incuriously until the glimpse of a characteristic hand-
writing caught his attention.
Sir Clinton Driffield, Chief Constable of the County,
was one of Wendover's most valued friends. They met
infrequently. Their correspondence was spasmodic. But
they had the knack of taking up the thread of intimacy
instantaneously, even after the lapse of months. Wen-


TICKET NUMBER g/b:B.8816
33
dover enjoyed the semi-sardonic tinge of Sir Clinton's
talk; he liked that half-ironic nickname "Squire" which
only the Chief Constable used; he sympathised with
Driffield's preference for realities as against the desk-
work which bulked so large in his official duties.
Another interest drew them together. Wendover had
a fancy for criminology, and more than once he had
played the part of a not inefficient Watson in cases
which had cropped up. Sir Clinton held the view that
in the catching of criminals, it should be a case of "All
hands to the pumps." He was quite ready to sink the
Chief Constableship and give practical assistance to
any subordinate who might be in difficulties with a case.
But it was characteristic that few hints of these activi-
ties filtered out to the public. If the criminal was cap-
tured, the subordinate got the credit.
Wendover tore open his letter and, as he read it, his
face betrayed his unexpected pleasure. Like all Sir
Clinton's communications, it was laconic.
Dear Squire,
If I can get off for a week-end soon, could you put me up?
Fresh air and some exercise are my simple needs. If you can
take me in, I'll let you know the precise date as soon as I
can arrange it.
C. D.
"If he says a week-end, he means a week-end," Wen-
dover reflected. "Pity he can't stay longer. Still, it's
better than nothing."
He skimmed through the remainder of his letters
without finding much to interest him. Then, propping
his Times in front of him, he began his breakfast.


TICKET NUMBER G/b:B.8816
35
Total money subscribed
Prize fund
Drawer of winning horse
Drawer of second horse
Drawer of third horse
Seventy-nine other horses, starters and
nonstarters, each
£2,070,515
£1,451,520
483,840
241,920
120,960
1,839
The hospitals, he discovered, would net just above half-
a-million sterling from the Draw. H'm! At least that
money would be well spent. But what about the winner
of the first prize? If that went to some poverty-stricken
wretch, as it might easily do, the chances were that it
would drive him clean off his rocker.
He glanced at the next heading: "Drawers of
Fancied Horses" and immediately below it his eye
caught the name: "Novem Syndicate" in the body of
the paragraph. Almost incredulously he read the news
that the Syndicate had drawn Barralong.
With a lifetime's experience of blanks drawn in other
sweeps, Wendover's first thought was that a mistake
had been made. He could hardly persuade himself that
for once he had been lucky. Sweeps, as he knew them,
were all of the one pattern: you took a ticket, and some-
one else got the money. It seemed a reversal of the
normal order that he should actually have drawn a
horse. These things didn't happen in real life. He picked
out the item in the actual list of the Draw. There it was,
beyond dispute. "Barralong.—Novem Syndicate.
(G/B:B. 8816)." When he had convinced himself that
there was no error, his first sensation was one of pure
astonishment and it was not till much later that he gave
any thought to the financial aspect of the affair.
Barralong, he remembered, was priced at 7 to 1.


36
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Aswail, the favourite, stood at 2 to 1; and there was
Netsuke at 11 to 2 as well as one or two others more
fancied than Barralong. If he had been betting on the
Derby himself, Barralong wasn't the horse that would
have carried his money.
Still faintly incredulous, he turned back to the list
of the Draw, and felt slightly relieved that no address
had been put on the counterfoil. Blackburn had shown
good sense there.
"But I expect somebody will ferret it out," he re-
flected with distaste. "It's not the sort of publicity I'm
keen on, I must say."
It was all very well to have one's private satisfaction
over drawing a horse for once in one's life; but to have
one's name blazoned in the newspapers as a member of
the Syndicate, to have reporters on the doorstep, in-
quiring about one's sensations, and to be deluged with
begging-letters . . . Wendover, now that the first
flush was over, began to regret a success which might
prove to be a source of irritation.
He dismissed the whole affair from his mind without
much effort and went on with his leisurely breakfast.
After he had left the table, a cigarette helped him
through the remainder of The Times; and then he was
free for the next items of his routine: his meagre busi-
ness correspondence and some odds and ends connected
with the working of his estate. When these had been
dealt with, he had the best part of the morning still be-
fore him.
As he put away the last paper, he glanced out of the
window. Sunshine and high-sailing clouds suggested
that he had spent enough time indoors; and, casting
round for something to do, he bethought himself of
Sir Clinton's letter. Why not stroll down to the post-


38
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
brought him round into a less unsympathetic mood.
The man looked worried to death. That hint about hav-
ing backed White Starlight suggested possibilities in the
background. It might mean nothing much. On the other
hand, suppose that Falgate, finding his business foun-
dering under him, had taken to the Turf in the hope of
recouping himself by heavy betting? Then, if White
Starlight didn't crawl home ... A man doesn't sneer
at a windfall of £200 if he has plenty of money. In that
case, £200 means very little, one way or the other. But
Falgate, if rumours were true, hadn't plenty of money.
He needed cash. And if he sneered at £200, then evi-
dently £200 was a drop in the bucket compared with
his needs.
Falgate hesitated, as though he had something more
to say. Then, apparently he changed his mind, for with
a curt nod he let in his clutch and the car slid away.
Wendover, with a faint shrug at his own imaginings,
walked on to the post-office.
Here again he had to listen to talk about the Draw.
The brisk old lady behind the counter was something of
a favourite of his, and her rejoicings over his luck were
obviously genuine, without the faintest tinge of jeal-
ousy. That someone in the neighbourhood had been suc-
cessful appeared to be quite enough for her; and the
fact that her own ticket had got nothing did not seem
to worry her. And yet, as Wendover reflected, £200
would have meant a good deal more to her than it ap-
parently did to Falgate.
As he was filling in his telegram form, the door opened
and a dark-haired girl in a leather jacket and golfing
skirt came in. She nodded to the postmistress and then,
catching sight of Wendover, she turned to him with a
smile.


TICKET NUMBER G/b:B.8816
39
"I see your Syndicate's drawn Barralong, Mr. Wen-
dover. I expect you're being snowed under with con-
gratulations. I'd like to add mine to the lot."
"Thanks very much," Wendover answered. "The
news seems to have got abroad somehow. I don't quite
see how, for our names weren't given."
"Oh, neither they were. I'd forgotten that. But my
future uncle-in-law got the results of the Draw in last
night's paper and he's been boasting about it ever since.
All the countryside knows, by this time, I expect. Of
course I heard about it myself from Harry."
"H'm! I'd rather not have had the advertisement,"
Wendover admitted rather ruefully.
It was reasonable enough that young Thursford
should have told Viola Langdale. Since they were en-
gaged, it was her affair almost as much as his. But old
Peter Thursford might have kept his mouth shut in-
stead of bragging all over the place as if there was any
special credit in drawing a horse in a sweep. This ex-
plained why his gardener had offered his congratula-
tions, and how the postmistress had the news. Wen-
dover had a vision of having to shake hands with the
whole village in turn as he came across them.
He looked up to find Viola Langdale watching him
quizzically.
"You don't like being the Village Hero?" she asked.
"Cheer up! There are nine of you on the premises and
the public attention is divided. Besides," she added
with a faint sneer, "Harry's good uncle will lap up more
than his share, so you'll get off easier. He's very proud
of himself. It's wonderful what confidence a little money
gives some people. I wish I had some more of it."
"Confidence?" Wendover asked in a faintly ironical
tone.


1 40
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Lack of self-confidence was the last thing Viola could
have been charged with.
"No, of course not. Money, I meant. Think of what
one could do with £50,000. I've been thinking of noth-
ing else for the last few hours. Fact! I couldn't get to
sleep until I'd spent about half of it. As good as a Holly-
wood super-film — and much cheaper. I dropped off
into a doze just as I was telling the third chauffeur to
bring round all the Rolls-Royces, if there were as many,
so that I could pick out the one I wanted for the day."
"To drive to the rainbow's end and dig up the crock
of gold there, I suppose."
Viola Langdale was a girl about whom Wendover
never felt over-sure. Outwardly she was feminine
enough. She looked her twenty-seven years, but not a
day older. She could carry her clothes so that even her
shabby golfing-kit showed her off to advantage. Plenty
of men had tried to catch her fancy in the years since
she was twenty; and her looks alone would have ac-
counted for that. And yet, somehow, Wendover had
a feeling that, either by the exaggeration of some quality
or by the nimiety of another, she diverged ever so
slightly from what he regarded as normal femininity.
Her conversational frankness suggested that she was
throwing her mind open to inspection; but it was the cal-
culated frankness of the conjurer displaying his trick
cabinet for examination by his audience. "Examine it
as much as you like, ladies and gentlemen; it's all in
plain sight." And yet the skilfully-contrived mechanism
escapes the investigator. Wendover didn't like girls
who were as complicated as all that.
Viola bought a book of stamps at the counter and
then, as Wendover handed in his telegram, she nodded
towards the miniature car at the door.


TICKET NUMBER G/b:B.8816
41
"I'm going up to the links. Can I give you a lift?"
Wendover shook his head.
"No, thanks," he decided. "I doubt if I'd find any-
one to play with."
As they came out of the post-office together, he eyed
the shabby little four-year-old car. "All the Rolls-
Royces, if there are as many." Viola's pipe-dreams dealt
with material things, evidently; and that made the con-
trast between them and the present reality all the more
glaring. She had a tiny income, just sufficient to scrape
along on by living in the house her parents had left her.
Within limits, of course, she could live as she liked;
there was no one to interfere with her. And in some
ways, if all tales were true, she had made the limits wide
enough. But on the financial side her bounds were nar-
row, and it was no wonder that she wanted more.
He opened the car door for her and she slipped neatly
into the driving-seat. When she drove off, he watched
the tiny car for a moment or two as it receded down the
road. Well, he reflected, no doubt Harry Thursford
knew his own business; but Viola Langdale had been
engaged to three different men before, without men-
tioning other affairs. In Harry's place, he would have
been inclined to wonder if the fourth man was any like-
lier to keep her than the other three had been. Either
she went into these things very lightly or else . . . She
had certainly turned Falgate down when he began to
get into business difficulties.
Wendover disliked thinking about that sort of thing
where a girl was concerned. Instead, he turned to an-
other mental picture: Viola with her worn suede golf-
jacket and her dingy little car, keeping a footing among
her richer friends as best she could, and covering all
her difficulties with that bright, hard smile. One could


42
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
guess what it cost her in secret economies, especially in
a period of changing fashion in evening gowns. If she
betrayed a trace of cynicism at times, it was hardly sur-
prising.
As he passed the local druggist's, Wendover almost
ran into Willenhall, who was just coming out of the shop
with a kodak in his hand.
"I suppose you've seen the result of the Draw?" Will-
enhall inquired after they had greeted each other. "I
don't know how you feel about it, but I must confess
I'm more surprised than anything else. One never ex-
pects to get anything in these affairs."
Wendover was not ill-pleased to find someone shar-
ing his own feelings.
"I expect your next sensation will be annoyance," he
said, with a smile. "The names of the Syndicate have
leaked out, it seems, and we're likely to attract more
attention than we'll care about, from all I can see."
Willenhall nodded, as he slipped his kodak into his
pocket.
"So I gathered just now. I went into a shop to buy a
new cable shutter-release. This one's frayed a bit and
I'm uneasy about it holding out. Unfortunately they
hadn't one in stock. While I was buying some fresh
films, the druggist congratulated me most effusively. I
couldn't make out how he knew anything about it."
"Old Thursford has been spreading the news," Wen-
dover explained.
Willenhall did not seem surprised to learn the source
of the information.
"He struck me as rather a talkative old gentleman,"
he commented with an ironical look. "By the way, I
must thank you for your hints about the neighbour-
hood. I've been up at Heatingham Abbey and found


TICKET NUMBER G/b:B.8816
43
it most interesting. In fact, I used so many films on
various bits of it that I ran out of stock."
"You haven't been up to Hell's Gape yet, have you?"
"Not yet; but I mean to see it before I leave. I'm
staying for a week or ten days longer, so I shall be able
to pick a fine day. From what you told me, I'd better
choose a time when the light's good."
"If you can manage to get there in the morning, I
think you'd find the conditions at their best," Wendover
advised, after thinking for a moment or two. "If I re-
member right, the shadows of the rock-fangs fall rather
well about that time. You'd get something that would
make a picture as well as a photograph."
"Thanks, I'll bear that in mind."
Wendover felt no desire to prolong the interview. His
opinion of Willenhall had improved slightly again. At
least he hadn't made a fuss over their luck in the Draw
but had taken it in a sportsmanlike fashion.
"Well, anything more I can do for you in the matter
of the local antiquities? If you want any more informa-
tion, I'll be glad to give you what I have."
Willenhall thanked him, but seemed to think that he
had enough to keep him occupied for the present.


DISASTER IN THE AIR 45
to engine trouble. Two passengers were severely injured.
Mr. Edmund Blackburn, another passenger, was killed in-
stantaneously. Mr. Blackburn was a member of the Novem
Syndicate which drew Barralong in the Hospital Sweepstake.
"Poor chap!" Wendover murmured to himself.
"That's awful luck. And all because he wanted to avoid
the discomfort of a Channel crossing. It's fortunate he
hasn't got a wife waiting for him here."
His acquaintance with Blackburn was of the faintest.
There was no feeling of personal loss in Wendover's
mind. His sympathy was purely a humanitarian one.
Dreadful, to think of a man being shot out of existence
like that! But at least he hadn't suffered. "Killed in-
stantaneously."
Wendover tried to put the matter out of his mind and
to concentrate on the rest of the morning's news; but
his effort was only partly successful. The picture of
that shattered aeroplane insisted on surging up before
him. Dashed precarious, this modern existence! Every
new advance seemed to open up fresh avenues leading
down to death. If your gas-pipes went wrong, you might
die of suffocation in your sleep. If the electric wiring
fused, you might be burned alive in your bed. Or a
tramway cable might electrocute you in the street. As
for motors, there was the daily death-roll staring you in
the face if you opened a newspaper. And aeroplanes.
. . . Poor Blackburn! Modern man lived a very haz-
ardous life. And then Wendover smiled faintly at the
recollection that thirty years ago people were actually
knocked down and killed by horse-traffic! They must
have been a slow-moving lot in his young days.
He forced himself to complete the perusal of The
Times and then retired to his smoking-room to wrestle


46
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
with the pile of letters which awaited him. A rapid sift-
ing extracted all those addressed in known handwrit-
ings; and these he dealt with first. When they had been
disposed of, he settled down rather gloomily to the task
of slitting envelopes and glancing at the openings of
the contained letters, so that nothing private should be
sent on to the Charity Organisation Society offices.
He had just got into the swing of this, when to his
annoyance he was interrupted.
"Mr. Checkley wishes to see you, sir, if you are not
engaged."
Wendover, letter-opener in hand, looked up from his
task.
"Show him in," he directed the maid, after a mo-
ment's hesitation.
He could not imagine what had brought Checkley
there at this hour of the morning. It could not be a mere
friendly call, for Checkley hardly knew him — had
never been in his house before, as a matter of fact. Ob-
viously it must be this damned Syndicate cropping up
again. But why the Syndicate should suddenly become
an urgent affair he could not conceive.
He rose to his feet as Checkley entered the room.
Somehow Checkley's little black eyes and avaricious
mouth reminded him of a baby crocodile.
Checkley wasted no time in needless conversation.
"You've seen the news?" he demanded. "Blackburn's
crash, I mean."
If there was any regret in Checkley's tone, Wendover
failed to catch it. Checkley evidently had an interest in
Blackburn's death, but whatever that interest was, it
had little to do with normal human sympathy.
"A dreadful affair," Wendover commented.
"Yes, of course," Checkley agreed, perfunctorily.


DISASTER IN THE AIR
47
"By the way, I suppose you have that copy of the mem-
orandum we made about the Sweep tickets? I ought to
have copied it at the time, but I hadn't an opportunity.
D'you mind if I have a glance at it now, if you have it
anywhere handy?"
Rather disgusted by Checkley's behaviour, Wendover
confined his reply to a nod of acquiescence. The paper
was in his safe, and he was able to lay his hands on it
at once. Checkley seized it eagerly and ran his eye down
the document.
"Yes," he said at last, in the tone of a man who has
found his beliefs confirmed. "It seems all right. I'll
take a copy of it now. That'll save bothering you
again."
Wendover produced some sheets of writing-paper
and pushed aside the piles of envelopes so that Checkley
could sit down at the desk and make his copy.
"You're getting them too?" said Checkley contemp-
tuously, as he pointed to the mass of letters. "I chuck
mine straight into the fire as soon as I've made sure
what they are. Infernal cheek these people have, with
their squalls for help."
"They are a nuisance," Wendover admitted in a col-
ourless tone.
He disliked Checkley's methods so much that he even
began to feel inclined to defend the begging-letter writ-
ers.
Checkley, having finished his copying, pushed the
original document aside and turned round to his host.
"There's another thing I wanted to see you about.
I've had an offer for a half-share in our ticket for Bar-
ralong. Redhill tells me that he's had an offer too, for
a one-third share in it. What do you think? If Barralong
comes in nowhere, then we'd make something by clos-


48
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
ing with these offers, of course. But if Barralong's
placed, we'd be a lot worse off in the end."
"Barralong's not likely to be placed," Wendover
opined.
"You think not?" Checkley seemed doubtful. "Then
you think we should come to terms with these people?"
"No," said Wendover, bluntly, "I don't. If you're go-
ing to bet at all, then you ought to do it in a sportsman-
like way. I never hedged a bet in my life; and if this
isn't hedging, it comes so close to it that I can't see the
difference."
Checkley seemed completely taken aback by this
view.
"You mean you wouldn't take either offer? I don't
see your point. What's the good of chucking away
money if you think Barralong isn't going to be placed?"
Wendover, in his turn, was at a loss. It is extremely
difficult to formulate one's ideas of sportsmanship on
the spur of the moment, especially for the benefit of
someone who evidently cannot sympathise with them.
He chose the easy way of dogmatic statement.
"I went in for a pure gamble. You're proposing a com-
mercial transaction. I don't care about mixing up com-
mercial methods with sporting affairs. That's my posi-
tion."
"Well, I can't see it," Checkley answered grumpily.
"It seems a queer way to look at the thing. However,
we're all in the same boat, and if you object, that's an
end of the project."
Then a thought seemed to strike him which put the
matter in a fresh light.
"You can't prevent me dealing as I like with my own
share, of course. I can sell part of my chance in that, if
I like. That doesn't affect anyone else."


DISASTER IN THE AIR
49
"So long as you don't implicate me, you can do as
you please," Wendover admitted. "You're free to play
any tricks you may fancy, so long as they don't infringe
the terms of that original document there."
"I'll think over it," Checkley announced, after pon-
dering for a second or two.
As Wendover showed no desire to retain him, he took
his leave immediately. When he had gone, Wendover
picked up the copy of the agreement from his desk with
the intention of putting it back in his safe.
"When Checkley's time comes, he'll offer the An-
gel of Death a cheque to let him off — and probably
plead for five per cent. discount," he prophesied, half-
humorously.
As he glanced idly at the nine signatures to the docu-
ment, it struck him once more that most of these people
belonged to a circle different from his own. They cared
nothing for the countryside or the country people. They
represented the new trades and factories which were
springing up like mushrooms south of the old industrial
block in the Midlands. They had cast their eyes about
for districts where the rates were low; and where one
came, another followed.
Wendover, with an inherited prejudice in favour of
agriculture, had viewed the invasion with a faint latent
hostility. He liked things that were stable and perma-
nent. These invading things weren't like the old staple
trades: coal, iron, shipbuilding, and so forth. They were
all based on flimsy articles, or next door to that.
There was poor Blackburn with some office gadget
or other; and Redhill with his under-capitalised place
in Stanningleigh turning out fancy brands of enamel;
Falgate over in Ambledown with his acetate silk factory
(which might not last much longer); and Mackworth


so
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
with his ZZZ Sauce. And in their train had come Conis-
ton with his motorbuses; and old Thursford with his
cinemas. (Not forgetting young Thursford's ten per
cent, partnership.) And finally Checkley's venture in
toffee. These people quite obviously didn't think along
the same lines as himself. One might accept them as
neighbours, but one stuck to one's own group when it
came to choosing friends.
His eyes fell again on the document in his hand. Why
had Checkley been so eager, all of a sudden, to make
sure of the precise wording? There it was, in simple
enough language: —
The undersigned agree that the Derby Sweepstake tickets
numbered G/B:B.8811 to G/B:B.8819 inclusive are to be
held jointly by them and that any Prize won by any one or
more of these tickets shall be equally divided among the
holders when the prize-money is distributed. Counterfoils
are to be filled in in the name of the Novem Syndicate.
He read it twice before fathoming Checkley's motive.
"So that's what he wanted to be sure about?" Wen-
dover ejaculated aloud in his disgust.
He restored the document to his safe, and then with a
sigh returned to his letters. •


CHAPTER V: THE INJUNCTION
Derby Day added another novelty to Wendover's ex-
periences. He had been surprised to find himself draw-
ing a horse at all; but that was nothing in comparison
with his astonishment when he heard, over the wireless,
the result of the race: —
1. ASWAIL
2. BARRALONG
3. SILVER RAIN
He certainly had not fancied Barralong. Not even his
involuntary personal interest in the horse had sufficed
to persuade him that it had a sporting chance of a place.
As a prophet, he had to admit, he had not shone; and
he was fain to console himself with the recollection that
a three weeks' spell of blazing weather had made the
turf like iron. Evidently Barralong had done better in
these conditions than might have been the case in more
normal circumstances.
The Syndicate stood to win £241,920; say, some-
where between twenty-five and thirty thousand pounds
each. Wendover was not the kind of man to be thrown
off his balance by a sum of this sort. He had not been
posing when he had said that it really meant very little
to a person with simple tastes, like himself. He didn't
intend to go in for a more expensive brand of cigar
simply because it was more expensive; and other things
were much the same as cigars in that respect. He would


52
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
be able to do more for his tenants without stinting him-
self; the local hospital wouldn't object to a gift or two;
and he might be able to carry through one or two long-
planned improvements on the estate, which had been
precluded by the increasing pressure of taxation.
On the morning after the race, his mail swelled sud-
denly to dimensions which drove him to despair. Every
beggar in the Kingdom seemed anxious to have a share
in the bonanza. But as he turned over the pile of en-
velopes before settling down to tackle them method-
ically, his attention was caught by one which bore a
firm's name on the flap: Dyce & Monyash. Wendover
knew them well enough: old-established solicitors in
Ambledown. Wondering what business they had with
him — for his own affairs were in the hands of another
firm — he tore open the envelope and glanced over the
letter.
4th June
Dear Sir,
MR. EDMUND BLACKBURN'S ESTATE .
We are acting for the Trustees of the above estate, and in
examining the papers of the late Mr. Blackburn we found
some Sweepstake tickets and memoranda relating thereto.
Apparently you hold a note of agreement on the matter, of
which we have no copy. As we understand that one of these
tickets has obtained a large money Prize, may we ask you
to send us a copy of the form of agreement in your posses-
sion, so that we may know how the matter stands?
Yours truly,
Dyce & Monyash
Wendover read the letter through a second time. Of
course, Blackburn had possession of the winning ticket.


THE INJUNCTION S3
Wendover had forgotten that fact completely. And now
the legal sharks had got their teeth into the business,
the whole aspect of it would change. What had, orig-
inally, been a roughly-drawn agreement between gentle-
men would now become something which might have
to be interpreted by lawyers. It might even be dragged
into court, if they weren't careful. He had a shrewd
idea of how Checkley read it; and he had a conviction
that Dyce & Monyash would not be likely to agree with
Checkley's views, when they saw the actual wording.
The solicitors would naturally want to do the best
they could for their client. Checkley, unless Wendover
misread him badly, would be equally anxious to do the
best for himself; and if he insisted on his "rights" he
could act on his own behalf whether the rest of the
Syndicate agreed with him or not. In that case, the
Novem Syndicate's affairs would get a publicity even
wider than they had already obtained. Wendover
shrugged his shoulders rather disgustedly as he thought
of it.
In the meanwhile, he transcribed the agreement and
sent off the copy to Dyce & Monyash. That part of the
business, at least, was straightforward. But obviously
he could not go on acting for the Syndicate without
some authority. He went to the telephone, rang up each
member of the Syndicate in turn, and explained the
situation. It amused him to note the different ways in
which the news was received.
Jack Coniston was indifferent. "Why shouldn't they
see the agreement? I don't see it matters a damn. It's
not likely they'll make a squall over the Lottery Act.
And that ticket's our property. They can't mislay it,
or anything of that sort."
Old Peter Thursford was profane in his fury at the


54
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
idea of any lawyer daring to put his finger into the pie,
and meddle with "a plain agreement between a lot of
gentlemen." Wendover could hardly get him to promise
to pass the news on to his nephew.
Tommy Redhill, dragged away from a consultation
with his mixer, seemed slightly resentful from his tone;
but whether the resentment was due to the interruption
or to the nature of the news, Wendover failed to de-
termine. Tommy was too cool a person to give himself
away like old Thursford.
Falgate was not so cautious. Without reaching the
heights to which Peter Thursford had soared, he made
no bones about his annoyance at this new factor in the
affair. "Damn their eyes! I suppose this means we'll be
held up somehow or other until they've got a few dozen
letters written at six and eightpence a shot. Once a thing
gets into the hands of lawyers, it's months before any-
thing can be pushed through. They've got the ticket,
you say? Then they have the whiphand of us, I suppose.
We can't do anything without them. Good Lord!" The
rasp in his voice made it clear that he had some urgent
objection to any delay; and Wendover, recalling Fal-
gate's betting on White Starlight, inferred that he might
be in urgent need of cash to pay his losses. If that were
so, it was no wonder that he chafed when this unex-
pected intrusion of Dyce & Monyash might mean pro-
crastination.
Willenhall could not be reached on the telephone. He
was out on some expedition or other, and Wendover had
to content himself with inquiring when he would be
back.
Checkley received the news with obvious suspicion.
"I don't like it. I'm not sure you should have given
them a copy. The less we have to do with lawyers, the


THE INJUNCTION 55
better. I think . . . Oh, well, if they have the ticket,
I suppose you had to. Still, I don't like it. Don't do any-
thing more till we get together and talk the thing over.
It doesn't do to give ourselves away."
"Well, they asked a civil question and I gave them a
civil answer," Wendover pointed out. "We've nothing
to conceal, surely."
"No. No, of course not. Still, the less said the better.
That's my view."
Wendover had little doubt about the next move which
Dyce & Monyash would make, so he was not surprised
next morning to receive a second letter from them. The
promptness seemed to belie Falgate's premonitions.
There was no need for the solicitors to hurry. They
held the trump card in whatever game was to be played.
Without the ticket, the Syndicate was powerless. If
they approached the Sweepstake authorities for pay-
ment, Ticket G/B:B.8816 would have to be produced
to substantiate their claim. Without it, no money could
be collected. Dyce & Monyash would know that well
enough.
"Checkley won't like this," Wendover reflected
rather sardonically as he read the solicitors' letter.
5th June
Dear Sir,
MR. EDMUND BLACKBURN'S ESTATE
We are in receipt of your letter of yesterday's date, en-
closing copy of the agreement entered into by the members
of the Novem Syndicate.
We note that "any Prize won by one or more of these
tickets" (i.e. the tickets numbered G/B:B.8811 to G/B:-
B.8819 inclusive) "shall be equally divided among the
holders when the prize-money is distributed."


THE INJUNCTION 57
to Blackburn should be split up among the eight re-
maining survivors of the Syndicate. Checkley consti-
tuted himself the protagonist of this trio.
"These lawyers are just trying it on. They haven't
a leg to stand on, but they think we're soft. The agree-
ment's plain enough. It wasn't drawn exactly to cover
this case, but it covers it all right for all that. Besides,
supposing we were fools enough to give in, where does
the money go? I've made inquiries about it. Blackburn
left all his estate to his brother — a fellow simply roll-
ing in money. He doesn't need this cash; he's got more
than he knows what to do with already. It's not as if
Blackburn's heirs were poor devils without a stiver,
though even that wouldn't make a rap of difference to
the rights of the case. This claim is just a bit of damned
graspingness. They're trying it on to see if they can get
something for nothing."
"I agree with Checkley," Falgate chimed in. "Why
should we give up money to feather the nest of a fellow
who doesn't need it as much as we do? Besides, I read
the agreement as favouring Checkley's interpretation."
When old Peter Thursford spoke, Wendover was
agreeably surprised. He had not understood how Hal-
stead ever invited such a ruffian to his house. Appar-
ently, however, Peter sober was a very different person
from Peter under the influence of too much alcohol. He
spoke now with firmness and something which might
almost be called quiet dignity.
"If I thought this claim was just, gentlemen," he
said, "I should be the first to admit it. But it isn't a
just claim; it's an imposition, to my way of thinking.
And I refuse to be imposed on by any pack of lawyers.
It's not the money. I don't need the money. But no man
swindles me, while I have my senses."


58
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"What about you, Redhill?" Wendover demanded.
Tommy Redhill's hard clean-shaven face was one
factor which enabled him to keep his own counsel.
Without the faintest suggestion of posing, he could ap-
pear sphinxlike. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his
features unless the brain behind them voluntarily dic-
tated it. And his manner of speech suggested the same
watchfulness. He rarely used the first person singular
when putting forward an opinion, so that it was difficult
to be sure whether he was giving his own views or merely
voicing, for the sake of argument, the ideas which might
be held by someone else.
"There's a good deal to be said for Mr. Thursford's
view," he said in a tone which suggested almost com-
plete indifference to the whole matter. "No one likes
to feel he's being bounced out of something he's entitled
to, least of all when the man behind the bouncer doesn't
need the money. Who's doing the bouncing in this case,
though? Is it this lawyer fellow, or is it the rest of us
here? It's a matter of interpreting a phrase, and neither
side's likely to agree with the other. There's no com-
promise possible, for either Blackburn's share goes into
the Syndicate's pocket or it doesn't. There's no middle
course."
"You, Coniston?" Wendover inquired, as Redhill fin-
ished his inconclusive survey.
"Oh, I don't give a damn either way," Jack Coniston
admitted frankly. "Complicated affair, apparently. I
don't profess to be impartial or anything of that sort,
of course. I'd just as soon have the money as not. How
much is it, by the way?"
Checkley had the figures ready.
"The Syndicate nets £241,920 in any case. Divided
among eight, as it ought to be, each man's share's


60
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
him to go to the High Court with an injunction to pre-
vent the prize being paid over to the Syndicate. That'll
hang the business up for a bit, but it won't endanger
the prize-money, so far as one can make out."
"There's something in that," Harry Thursford ad-
mitted. "I remember two or three cases like that in the
papers."
"What's your view?" Wendover asked, turning to
Willenhall, who had still to give his opinion.
Willenhall seemed in some doubt about the exact
words to use. Evidently he felt that he was on shaky
ground and wished to put things tactfully.
"Personally, if it were purely my own affair, I'd be
inclined to surrender with a good grace. But that, I ad-
mit, would not necessarily be the proper course, since
I don't know how we stand either legally or in equity.
The point was never dreamed of when the agreement
was drafted; we all know that. And on that account I
don't press for a surrender of the money. I'm hardly in
a good position to do so, for if we give it up, it won't
make much difference to me financially, whereas it may
mean more to some members of the Syndicate. I don't
like to advocate a course which might hit them harder
than it would hit me. I think you understand what I
mean?"
"Hear! Hear!" Checkley agreed sotto voce, but it was
clear that his approval was elicited by Willenhall's policy
rather than by any recognition of its thoughtfulness.
"I feel much the same as Mr. Willenhall," Wendover
said, in a businesslike tone. "The fact that I don't need
the money makes me very disinclined to take any line
which might be to the detriment of less fortunately-
placed members of the Syndicate. The general feeling
seems to be against conceding anything until we're sure


THE INJUNCTION 61
of our ground. Am I correct in that? Very well, suppose
we have Mr. Monyash in and tell him so."
Mr. Monyash, when he entered, did not make a fa-
vourable impression upon those who had not met him
before. Though only middle-aged, he seemed like a sur-
vival from a past age when lawyers lived in air-tight
offices with cobwebbed windows. An amateurishly-
shaven chin hung above a collar which looked as though
it had seen ten days' hard service. His tie had loosened
and crept towards the right, for forty years of experi-
ence had still left him incapable of achieving a decent
knot. His hands looked as though he had come straight
from grubbing among the office archives; and Wendover
unconsciously drew in his breath at a glimpse of nails
in heavy mourning.
Mr. Monyash advanced to the table, seated himself
deliberately, drew out some papers, searched again in
his pocket and extracted horn-rimmed spectacles which
he placed on his nose. Then, with an air of a chairman
opening a meeting, he remarked:
"I suppose, gentlemen, that you've agreed to take the
reasonable course?"
"Of course," Jack Coniston threw out with an en-
gaging grin. "What we want to know now is whether
you're reasonable enough to think that it's reasonable.
See what I mean?"
Mr. Monyash evidently did not relish this flippancy.
"I think that is hardly the spirit, hardly the spirit,"
he protested. "Mr. Wendover, perhaps you would be so
good as to explain the decision you have arrived at. I
do not think a matter of this importance should be han-
dled as if it were a joke, a mere joke."
"I can put it in a nutshell, Mr. Monyash," Wendover
answered, with his eyes fixed upon Mr. Monyash's nail-


62
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
tips, which exercised an unpleasant fascination upon
him. "The Syndicate does not agree with your interpre-
tation of the agreement."
Mr. Monyash seemed surprised. He adjusted his
spectacles, picked up the paper, and examined it several
times as though he expected to find something on it
which evaded him.
"It seems plain enough, quite plain," he said at last,
with a final glance at the document. "The prize-money
is to be distributed among the holders. The late Mr.
Blackburn was a holder. Therefore his share is part of
the assets of his estate. That seems quite clear, very
clear indeed."
Checkley could not repress himself.
"The prize-money isn't to be divided among the hold-
ers. It's to be divided among the holders-when-the-
prize-money-is distributed. Mr. Blackburn isn't a holder.
He's dead. He can't be a holder-when-the-prize-money-
is-distributed. Besides, his interest lapsed with his
death. There's nothing in the document about his heirs,
successors, or assigns. He dropped out, when he died."
"We don't read it so," said Mr. Monyash, with simple
dignity.
"Then what do you propose to do?" Wendover asked
politely.
Mr. Monyash made a gesture which brought his
finger-nails into prominence.
"We shall consider what steps to take," he stated,
with the air of one charged with great decisions. "We
might present the ticket and secure the whole of the
prize-money, after which we should, of course, hand over
one-ninth of it to each member of the Syndicate. With-
out the ticket, Mr. Wendover, you are quite helpless,
perfectly impotent, if I may point that out."


THE INJUNCTION 63
"If you attempt to cash that ticket, I'll have you
charged with embezzlement," Checkley broke in an-
grily. "You can't act in our name without our author-
ity, and you haven't got that."
Ignoring Checkley's outburst, Tommy Redhill leaned
forward with a gesture to attract Monyash's attention.
"Here's a suggestion," he said, in his usual impersonal
way. "Suppose you hold on to the ticket as security,
and that you go to the High Court for an injunction to
prevent the people who are running the Sweep from
paying over the prize to the Syndicate without your
client getting his share. The High Court will settle the
rights and wrongs of the business on the evidence, with-
out any fear or favour. It may take a few weeks, but
that doesn't matter much."
Falgate shook his head at this, but Redhill ignored
him.
"If that suggestion does not satisfy your client," he
continued, "then it's evident that this is a mere black-
mailing business and not a serious proposition. The Syn-
dicate's quite prepared to let it be a friendly action and
not a fight, for the simple reason that you haven't a leg
to stand on. Your client had better move for an injunc-
tion at the earliest moment, for if he doesn't, other steps
may be taken which wouldn't suit him so well. Is that
quite clear — plain enough?"
Mr. Monyash seemed hardly to know what to do. It
looked as though Tommy Redhill had stolen his thun-
der. Evidently the last thing he had expected was the
challenge to move for an injunction.
"We had already considered, carefully considered,
this course," he explained. "It was, naturally, in our
minds . . ."
"But your client would rather have the money with-


64
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
out the fuss, eh?" old Thursford interjected with a
chuckle. "Well, sir, my view is that he'll get the fuss
without the money. We're not ashamed to go into court
over the affair, if he is."
"I am afraid you take things in the wrong spirit,"
Mr. Monyash protested with a smile which seemed
slightly awry. "We are quite prepared to go into court
if necessary, and, if I may say so, we expect to win our
case."
"We'll go into court with clean hands, anyhow," old
Thursford retorted, with a rather unfortunate choice
of metaphor.
Mr. Monyash seemed quite unaware that he had suf-
fered a thrust.
"I regret that I shall have to report to my client that
you will not come to an agreement on our terms," he
said, rising. "I had hoped that you would be more rea-
sonable, much more reasonable."
"I'm afraid we differ on a question of definition,"
Wendover replied courteously as he also rose from his
chair. "You'll move for this injunction, then? I take it
that as it's purely a formal matter, you'll keep us in-
formed of your procedure?"
"I have no power to pledge my client to any course of
action," Monyash pointed out. "In any case, it may be
necessary to ask the High Court for leave to issue sum-
monses out of their jurisdiction upon members of the
Syndicate. That has been done before in a somewhat
analogous case."
And with this parting shot, he collected his belongings
and departed.
"Seems to be rather a muddle," Coniston commented
cheerfully, as the door closed behind the solicitor. "And
yet none of us saw anything wrong with the agreement


THE INJUNCTION 65
when we signed it. Just shows how the unexpected
pushes in."
Harry Thursford had apparently been thinking over
the problem.
"What evidence is there to produce if the High Court
asks for our interpretation of the document?" he in-
quired. "There's nothing in writing to show that we
have an understanding on the point, even now."
Checkley fastened upon this immediately.
"That's quite right. We ought to have it down in
writing, as a sort of guarantee of good faith. Better late
than never. How would this do? 'We, the members of
the Novem Syndicate, are agreed that the prize-money
due to us on account of Ticket No. G/B:B.8816 is to be
divided equally among . . .' How would you phrase
it?"
"'Among those of us who are still alive when the
cash is actually paid over by the Trustees of the Prize
Fund.' How would that do?" Harry Thursford sug-
gested.
Checkley jotted down the complete sentence and ex-
amined it for a moment.
"We'd better leave no loophole," he said, doubtfully.
"What about another clause: 'and that no other person
whatsoever is entitled to any share in the prize-money
aforesaid.' That seems to make it as clear as it can be.
Nobody could mistake what our intentions were."
"I don't see much point in it," Wendover interjected.
"No court will bother about our intentions. They'll in-
terpret the document purely on its wording."
"Still, I think we ought to know where we actually
stand and to put that on record," Checkley insisted.
"There's no harm in signing this, is there? It's merely a
statement of what we've actually agreed to just now."


66
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Rather to Wendover's surprise, Willenhall supported
Checkley.
"It seems to me," he said, "that Mr. Checkley's draft
goes no further than we've already gone in our state-
ment to Mr. Monyash, a few minutes ago. We dealt
with him on the basis that we were agreed upon this
particular interpretation of the position, and I don't
see any harm in having that interpretation put down in
writing. Would you mind reading over the wording
again, Mr. Checkley?"
"Here it is," Checkley said, and he read from his
draft. " 'We, the members of the Novem Syndicate, are
agreed that the prize-money due to us on account of
Ticket No. G/B: B.8816 is to be divided equally among
those of us who are still alive when the cash is actually
paid over by the Trustees of the Prize Fund and that
no other person whatsoever is entitled to any share in
the aforementioned prize-money.' That seems ship-
shape."
"I've no objection to signing it," Willenhall agreed,
pulling out his fountain pen and holding out his hand
for the paper.
"Oh, I don't mind signing either," Jack Coniston con-
curred. "One never knows, in these days. The whole lot
of you might die of spotted fever, and leave me almost
a quarter of a millionaire. And if I draw the spotted
fever, you fellows are welcome to my share in the cash.
I shan't want it myself."
"Some people have gruesome minds," Tommy Red-
hill pointed out objectively as he put his signature to the
note. "You'll sign, Harry?"
He passed the paper to Harry Thursford, from whom
it went the round of the other members of the Syndi-
cate.


CHAPTER VI: DEATH AT HELL'S GAPE
"Don't let me interfere with your simple pleasures,
Squire," said Sir Clinton Driffield as Wendover groaned
audibly at the sight of the letter-laden table in the
smoking-room. "I'll amuse myself with the papers while
you go on with your good works. It'll be time enough
for our tramp when you've waded through them. And,
by the way, if you come across any specially fine ex-
amples of the begging-letter writer, just pass the things
over, please. It all helps to keep one abreast of one's
profession."
He picked up The Times and began to read it, while
Wendover sullenly fell to his task of slitting envelopes
and glancing at the contents. The post had been heavy
that morning, and the task of sifting grain from chaff
was a wearisome one. But by this time Wendover was
in good practice, and Sir Clinton was inwardly amused
to see how rapidly the work could be done. A flick
with the paper-cutter, a rustle as the paper was with-
drawn from the envelope and opened out, another rus-
tle as it went to join one or other of the sorted piles,
and then flick again, as a fresh epistle was slit open.
The sounds succeeded each other so rapidly that they
merged into an almost steady rhythm, interrupted only
when Wendover came across one of the rare personal
documents in the mass.
Sir Clinton put down The Times at last and picked
up, instead, one of the weekly reviews. As he opened


68
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
it and glanced idly over the pages, his eye was caught
by a local name.
"Hullo! Another branch of industry sprung up here
since my last visit," he commented aloud.
"What's that?" Wendover demanded, looking up
from his task.
Fresh local industries had no charm for him, and
he wondered what new invasion was to be expected
next.
"Oh, only a little 'un," Sir Clinton reassured him.
"Here's the news. 'Literary Typewriting carefully and
promptly executed. MSS. Is. per 1,000 words. Carbon
copy 3d. per 1,000. Miss V. Langdale, Azalea Cottage,
Steeple Talgarth.'"
"That's not new," Wendover said, with a faint sigh
of relief. "Viola Langdale's been on that tack for quite
a while. I don't think she makes much of it, though,
or she wouldn't have as much time on her hands as
she has."
Sir Clinton nodded and returned to his reading.
Wendover's paper-cutter continued its work, but sud-
denly the rhythm of the sounds at the table was inter-
rupted. The Chief Constable, unconsciously roused by
the break, glanced up from his paper to find Wendover
staring at a document in his hand, with an expression
of amazement on his features. He turned and caught
Sir Clinton eyeing him.
"Here's something in your line," he suggested, skim-
ming the letter through the air to his guest, who re-
trieved it as it landed at his feet. "What do you
think of that? Some people have a weird sense of hu-
mour."
The Chief Constable unfolded the document gingerly
so as not to leave his finger-prints on it. Wendover


DEATH AT HELL'S GAPE
69
watched his face, but Sir Clinton showed nothing in
his expression as he read over the typewritten lines: —
You boys of the Novem Syndicate think you've got away
with the money. But some of us mean to have our share.
You will bury ten thousand pounds (£10,000) in small
notes in a tin box behind the third milestone beyond the
village on the Ambledown road next Friday night at mid-
night and then go straight home. Don't hang about or it will
be the worse for you. We have eyes that can see in the dark
and we can run like the devil so we can catch you if you
try to play tricks.
The money must be in old notes and not in new notes
which could be traced and the notes must not be marked
in any way. They must all be of small denominations.
If you try any games or if you don't fork out the money
we shall bump off one of you and after that it will be twenty
thousand pounds (£20,000) so just you be careful. We don't
stick at anything and no one can catch us.
A copy of this is being sent to each of you so just you
take warning and do as we order or else the Lord have mercy
on your souls.
This is all for the present from
Yours truly
THE BLACK HAND
p.p. Big-headed Ben the Gunman
"Some kids amusing themselves," Wendover grum-
bled. "Look at the phrasing: 'We have eyes that can
see in the dark' and 'we can run like the devil.' This
is one result of old Thursford's work in bringing the
movies to the village. These kids have evidently ab-
sorbed the film atmosphere and got intoxicated by it.
All that stuff about the third milestone at midnight


70
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
and the rest of it. A good hiding is what they need."
"You might chuck the envelope across," the Chief
Constable suggested. "H'm! Local post-mark — 7.30
p. m. Cheap paper and envelope is what one might have
expected, but this seems good enough stuff. I'd have
looked for more dirt on the paper if the Black Hand
is to be taken literally. Well, I'll pass this on to our
old friend Inspector Severn and let him lay a trap at
the third milestone tonight, just in case of accidents.
He'll be pleased to make the writer run like the devil,
I'm sure."
He stowed letter and envelope away in his pocket; and
then, with a glance at the desk, he inquired:
"Take you much longer to finish up that lot, Squire?
I see you're nearly through."
"Not more than ten or fifteen minutes."
Sir Clinton looked at his watch.
"Well, when you've finished, suppose we take some
sandwiches and a flask with us and cut out lunch today.
I confess I want a longish walk rather badly."
Wendover reflected for a moment or two, after con-
sulting his own watch.
"What do you say to a tramp over the moors? Plenty
of fresh air up there. We might look in at Hell's Gape
on the way home. A man was asking me about it some
time back, and that reminded me that I haven't seen
it for years myself. I'd rather like to pay it a visit,
just to refresh my memory; and we may as well have
some sort of object in our walk."
Sir Clinton nodded a careless assent and buried him-
self again in his papers whilst Wendover set himself to
finish his examination of the remaining letters.
The walk proved to be all that Sir Clinton could de-
sire. The day was sunny without being too hot; and


DEATH AT HELL'S GAPE
71
when they left the road for paths and hill-tracks a cool
breeze blew across the uplands. They ate their sand-
wiches beside a streamlet whose tiny falls made a sooth-
ing background to their talk, and the softness of the
turf betrayed them into lingering there rather longer
than they had intended.
"Fairly lonely, up here," Sir Clinton commented af-
ter they had walked for a while. "We've hardly met
a soul since we left the road."
They had come to the crest of some rolling upland
and could look around them over a stretch of coun-
try.
"There's only one road comes anywhere near here —
you see a bend in it down yonder," Wendover pointed
out. "It's just waste land round about; stuff that no
one could make anything out of. There are one or two
isolated cottages scattered about in it, here and there,
and that represents the whole population on the
heights."
He gazed round in great content. Though a sociable
man in the main, Wendover at times had a liking to
get away from his fellows and to feel that he had left
the crowd behind him. This deserted tract of land gave
him the sensation he wanted. Plenty of elbow-room,
just earth and sky as far as one could see in this un-
dulating country. Suddenly his keen eye picked up an
object farther down the slope.
"Somebody else out for fresh air," he said, pointing
the thing out to his companion. "Looks like one of these
little cars a bit off the road. It must be somebody out
for a picnic, scattering papers and bottles all over the
place, probably."
He turned slightly and pointed again.
"See that spinney across there, Clinton? Hell's Gape


72
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
is just beyond that, on the farther slope. It'll take us
. . . let's see . . . about three-quarters of an hour or
so to get over there."
"We shall probably drop straight into your picnic
party, if they've left their car and gone up the hill,"
Sir Clinton conjectured. "You'll be able to give them
a few words about litter as we pass, if you feel so
strongly about it as all that. We'd better be moving
now."
Ten minutes later, his prophecy was fulfilled. In a
ferny nook they stumbled upon the two picnickers.
Harry Thursford was stretched at full length on the
grass, his cap tilted over his eyes to ward off the sun.
Beside a tiny pool, Viola Langdale was busy rinsing
cups and plates and repacking them in a tea-basket.
Wendover, despite his confirmed bachelorhood, had a
soft place in his heart for a pretty girl; and he was
sentimental enough to be rather touched by this pre-
liminary sketch of domesticity. Harry Thursford was
quite capable of washing up the cups; but Viola would
insist on doing it herself. And this picnic-party would
leave no litter, that was one thing.
Attracted by the sound of their footsteps, Harry
Thursford looked round and rose to his feet.
"We hardly expected visitors to drop in," he said, as
he brushed some grass-blades from his jacket, "but we
might be able to stand you some tea, if you're thirsty,"
he added hospitably.
"This is Sir Clinton Driffield," Wendover explained
by way of introduction. Then, as Viola looked up, he
added. "Thanks for the offer, but we've had a picnic
of our own only a short while ago, Miss Langdale.
Please don't trouble about us."
Viola came forward with that efficient smile in which


DEATH AT HELL'S GAPE
73
Wendover always imagined he saw a touch of hard-
ness.
"Gorgeous day, isn't it? We've been up here since
midday and the time seems to have passed like light-
ning."
"You've picked a nice spot," Sir Clinton said, with
an appreciative glance round the little dell.
"Oh, we often come up here. One can run the car
off the road a good distance so that no one touches it,
and then this place is within easy reach. Sure you won't
have some tea? It's no trouble to get it."
Sir Clinton shook his head.
"No, thanks. We've got a good walk in front of us,
and I don't think we should stay. Mr. Wendover's tak-
ing me up to have a look at Hell's Gape."
Harry Thursford's fine teeth showed in a smile.
"Hell's Gape's evidently popular today." He glanced
at his watch. "However, I don't expect you'll come
across Willenhall up there if it's as late as all that. He
asked me to show him the Maiden's Well down by the
road there, so we walked up together in the morning;
and then I put him on the road to Hell's Gape and
waited here for Miss Langdale. He'll be gone long ago,
though."
"If you'd thought about it, I could have brought both
of you up in my car," Viola pointed out.
"Willenhall said he wanted a walk," Harry explained.
"You must have hustled him off pretty quick. I'd
like to have seen him. He grows on one, rather. The
first time I saw him, I thought he was a complete dud;
but it's just that shy manner of his. I don't think he
liked me, quite. I offered to let him take my photograph
to add to his museum of local curiosities; and he didn't
quite know how to take it. He got a bit embarrassed,


74
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
as if he thought he ought to turn a compliment and was
sure he'd make a hash of it if he tried. So I'd like to
leave a better impression."
"What did you expect him to say?" inquired Wen-
dover amusedly.
"Oh, I hadn't a notion. He looks like one of those
men who've never had much to do with women and
don't quite know how to take them. I rather like that
sort. One never knows what they'll say next, out of
sheer inexperience."
"I think we'd better be moving on," said Wendover
hastily, in mock perturbation. "If we stay any longer,
there's no saying what you might extract from my in-
experience. Coming, Clinton?"
Viola made a gesture to bring him to a halt.
"Wait a moment. Are you coming back this way
after you've been up at Hell's Gape? (If I say that
name again, I shall yawn!) If you are, we'll still be
here when you get back, and I daresay we might just
manage to squeeze you into my car and give you a lift
home, if that's any use to you. It'll be a tight fit, but
I believe we could pack four in at a pinch."
"My fear for your springs is greater even than my
desire for your company," Wendover retorted with in-
tentional extravagance. "No, it's very kind of you, but
I think we'd better get home on our feet. We came out
for exercise, and we ought to stick to our programme.
Thanks very much for the offer, though."
"Very well, if you won't you won't," Viola agreed.
"We'll see you when you come back."
Sir Clinton and Wendover took their leave and
turned their faces towards the ridge beyond which lay
Hell's Gape. When they were well out of earshot, Sir
Clinton turned to his companion.


DEATH AT HELL'S GAPE
75
"That's the girl of the typewriting advertisement,
isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Apparently she won't be typing much longer.
They're engaged, aren't they?"
"Yes, but how did you . . . Oh, I suppose you saw
her ring? Yes, they're engaged."
Sir Clinton eyed Wendover for a moment.
"You don't seem very sure about it, to judge from
your tone," he commented.
"I'm not," Wendover admitted frankly. "Young
Thursford may manage to keep her, but if the engage-
ment's broken off, it won't be her first experience in
that line."
"As freakish as all that?" Sir Clinton inquired. "I
should have said she was a person who knew her own
mind. She struck me as rather a cool card, in that short
acquaintance."
"You've put your finger on it," Wendover said grudg-
ingly. "At least, it looks suspiciously like it. And yet
I can't help feeling a bit sorry for the girl, somehow.
She's devilishly hard up — look at that typewriting ad-
vertisement, for instance."
"You're the poorest hand at explaining things, Squire.
From your confused remarks I gather that she's hard
up, that she's rather mercenary, perhaps, that she's been
engaged once or twice and found it convenient to get
out of her entanglements. And, finally, that she's not
one of your pets. Pull yourself together and tell a plain
story. The girl rather interested me."
"Well, I never know what to make of her," said
Wendover, crossly. "I don't much care for girls who
pretend to put everything in the shop-window, when all
the time you can guess that the real things in stock


76
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
are quite different. That's the impression I get of her,
and I've known her for years."
"You make me more interested. Proceed. We've a
longish walk in front of us."
Wendover looked slightly uncomfortable.
"I'm not going to crab the girl, but the outside facts
are common knowledge," he said at length. "She was
left devilish hard up and she's had to learn by experi-
ence the exact difference between eleven-pence three-
farthings and one bob. Not an exhilarating experience
for an ambitious girl, that. She's got looks above the
average, a good figure, and she can set off her clothes:
quite sound assets for a girl. First of all she got engaged
to a youngster, but he took to lifting his elbow a bit
too high, and she broke that off. Quite right, too. He
was a young rotter. Perhaps that taste of love's young
dream soured her a bit, though on the surface she didn't
show much. Anyhow, some time after that, she got en-
gaged again to a fellow a bit older than herself with a
fair amount of capital. Like a fool, he took to specu-
lating during the big slump and went burst. That en-
gagement was broken off, too. I don't altogether blame
her. My impression was that she'd got caught on the
rebound from the first affair; felt lonely, you know;
and took the second fellow to fill the void somehow.
Then, by the time the smash came, she'd discovered he
wasn't quite her type, and she was glad to get out of it.
Then the new factories began to spring up round here,
and a fellow named Falgate arrived to start one of them.
She got engaged again and it looked all right. Only, he's
one of these quick-tempered devils and she's the kind
that loses her temper inside but keeps cool on the out-
side, so that you never know there's much wrong until
the whole affair blazes up at once. Falgate's business


DEATH AT HELL'S GAPE
77
began to go wrong, and I expect his temper got no
sweeter. She was probably getting sick of it for a good
while before the explosion came over some trifle or
other. Anyhow — another engagement gone. Falgate
was badly cut up; one couldn't help guessing that. She
didn't show anything; she never does. Perhaps she re-
gretted what had happened, but one couldn't have told
it from the surface. Then young Thursford — the fel-
low you saw just now — stepped in and made the run-
ning. He wasn't a catch. I gather he's only a sort of ten
per cent. partner in old Thursford's business and he
could just keep a wife in bare comfort without frills.
However, Viola's getting up towards the thirties now,
and she must be growing deadly sick of continual pinch-
ing. She took young Thursford on, though I must say
the keenness seemed all on one side. However, her ship
seems to have come home, this shot."
"How?" Sir Clinton inquired.
"Oh, this damned Sweep. He stands to win some-
where over £25,000 like the rest of us. That'll always
help in housekeeping."
"I see they've planted an injunction on you, or some-
thing like that, in the High Court, though."
"There's nothing in it, really," Wendover explained.
"That's only a question of the value of each person's
share. It's got nothing to do with the actual prize, ex-
cept that the cash is held up for a while until the Court
makes up its mind on a point."
In a few words he put the situation before Sir Clin-
ton.
"So in any case young Thursford stands to win
£25,000," the Chief Constable mused when he had heard
the whole story. "Then, if the girl's out of money, I sup-
pose he's got her safe enough?"


78
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"I don't know that she's that, entirely," Wendover
protested in an evident desire to be fair. "From one
or two things I've seen, I believe she could have twisted
old Thursford round her finger if she'd thought of noth-
ing but cash. He was always on her skirts for a while,
until at last she fended him off pretty bluntly. She could
have had him without the trouble of bringing him up to
the scratch; but she took his nephew instead. The re-
sult is that the old man hates his nephew like poison."
Sir Clinton seemed to have lost interest in the sub-
ject. He made no reply to Wendover's remarks, and
they walked on for a time in silence until they topped
the ridge for which they had been making.
"Go easy, Clinton," Wendover cautioned, as the
Chief Constable began to move down the further slope.
"There's a sheer sixty-foot drop just in front there.
That tree's just at the edge of the chasm."
As they descended the gentle declivity, Sir Clinton's
eye caught something lying in the turf ahead.
"Your friend Willenhall must be somewhere about
still," he said, as he pointed out the object. "There's
a kodak on the grass."
"He must have left it behind, surely. He can't have
spent all that time up here," Wendover surmised. "We'd
better salvage it and I can send it across to him to-
night."
Sir Clinton gave a nod of assent and descended to
the edge of the chasm.
"Very picturesque, these pinnacles on the other side,"
he said, looking across at them. "They've got a nasty
look about them, somehow, all the same. Rather like
the tusks in some monster's jaw. I shouldn't care to
be up here on a misty day, Squire. Rather risky, with
this place completely unfenced."


DEATH AT HELL'S GAPE
79
His eye travelled down the sheer rock-fangs, and he
leaned over the edge to see down into the depths of the
ravine.
"There's somebody down there, Squire!"
Wendover craned eagerly forward at the tone.
"It's Willenhall," he said, aghast. "Poor devil! He
must have slipped on the edge here and fallen right
on those rocks."
And without waiting a moment, he drew well back
from the rim and began running along the edge of
Hell's Gape towards the place where the chasm ended
and a grassy slope allowed access to the lower levels.
The mere sight of the body had convinced Sir Clin-
ton that Willenhall was dead. That being so, there was
no need for hurry. He gave a cursory glance round the
place on which he stood, and then, in a leisurely
fashion, made his way along in Wendover's tracks.
"Don't touch anything," he called, as Wendover
reached the end of the precipice and began to descend
the scarp beyond.


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
81
A thought seemed to cross Sir Clinton's mind.
"You knew him. There's no chance that it was sui-
cide and not accident, is there? He didn't look under
the weather, or anything of that sort, did he, when you
saw him last?"
"Not a bit," Wendover assured him. "He was an
easy-going fellow who didn't look as if he'd a trouble
in the world."
"It might have been a case of vertigo at the sight
of the chasm, of course: the terror of heights — I forget
the medical name for it," Sir Clinton went on. "A lot
of people suffer from that and may not know it till
they get a bad attack in a place like this. But that's
hardly our affair just now. We'll need to get some as-
sistance and have the body removed before dark."
"I'll go, if you like," Wendover volunteered.
Obviously one of them would have to stay by the
body until help came; and Wendover, who had known
Willenhall, had no desire to be that one. It was better
to have something to do, rather than sit beside that
shattered wreck and worry over a piece of unfortunate
advice.
Sir Clinton had his plans cut and dried.
"Very well, then, Squire. Get off down to where those
two were picnicking. They said they'd be there till we
came back, so you'll catch them, all right. Get them to
run you down in the car — that girl's better out of the
way, if we've got to bring the body down. Go to In-
spector Severn, if you can find him, and tell him about
the affair. He'll get the police surgeon and we'll need
a motor-ambulance sent up the road to the place where
Thursford and Miss Langdale had their car. We prob-
ably can't get the ambulance farther up than that.
We'll need a stretcher and some bearers to come up here


82
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
and take the body down to the ambulance. If you can
manage it, bring Severn and the surgeon back with you
in your own car; then we won't be bothered with a
crowd, at the start. By the way, is that crabbed little
fellow Alloway still police surgeon?"
Wendover nodded in confirmation.
"Oh, well, he won't waste time," Sir Clinton said
drily. "I remember he gave me the impression of want-
ing to get on to the next job before he'd quite finished
with the first one. A hustler, if anything. Well, you'd
better hustle too, Squire. You're not likely to be back
here under an hour and a quarter at the earliest."
He pulled his cigarette-case from his pocket as he
spoke and glanced at the contents.
"I've enough to see me through. Now, off you go."
Wendover set off at once, climbed the crest, and made
his best speed down the valley beyond; and all the way
he was haunted by the mental picture of that shattered
wreck in Hell's Gape. Clinton had taken the thing very
coolly, he reflected. But Clinton's interest in it was
purely professional — a case of accidental death within
the bounds of his district. Besides, Clinton hadn't known
Willenhall alive. But Wendover couldn't pretend to the
same aloofness. He could hear Willenhall's soft, diffi-
dent voice putting these fatal questions which had led
him in the end up on to the heights behind and to death.
Wendover knew quite well that he had merely tried to
do the man a kindness; he could hardly have refused the
information; he was absolutely blameless in the affair;
and yet . . . "Oh, damn! I wish it hadn't happened
so! Poor devil!" Then again the picture of the distorted
body would cross his mental vision, and once more the
whole train of thought would run through his mind
again. He knew perfectly well that his ideas were base-


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
83
less, a mere perturbation resulting from the shock at
the sight of Willenhall's corpse; and yet he was pursued
by that tormenting thought of responsibility even as he
denied it to himself.
At last he came in sight of the picnic-place; and to
his relief he was able to make out the two figures there.
Fortunately they had held to their plans and had not
gone home. That meant so much time saved. He took
out his handkerchief, waved to attract their attention,
and was cheered when an answering wave showed that
they had seen him. How was he going to break the news,
with the girl there? No use upsetting her, of course.
Better say there had been an accident and that they
needed help to get Willenhall down. And as his mind
passed to the fresh problem, the other phase of the af-
fair dropped from his mind, leaving him cool again.
At the sight of his evident excitement, they had come
out to meet him, and when he came near enough Viola
called to him.
"Has there been an accident? Where's Sir Clinton?"
"Driffield's all right. It's Willenhall that's hurt."
Harry Thursford blundered in with a direct ques-
tion:
"Is he killed, man? What's happened?"
Wendover frowned meaningly at him at a moment
when Viola turned her eyes towards Hell's Gape.
"He's fallen over the cliff up there. I've left Sir Clin-
ton to look after him. We'll need help to bring him
down."
"I'll go up now," Harry Thursford volunteered.
"No," Wendover restrained him. "We'll need an am-
bulance sent up here and some stretcher-bearers, before
we can shift him. You'll be more use helping to collect
them than you would be up there."


84
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
He turned to the girl.
"Can you drive us down?"
For once, Viola's coolness impressed Wendover in
her favour. She wasted no time in useless questioning
but hurried back to her car, turned on the petrol and
had the engine running almost as soon as they reached
her side.
"Jump in!" she ordered.
Harry Thursford slipped in beside her; Wendover
crammed himself into the tiny back seat; and before
they had closed the doors, she had the little car on the
move and was driving it gently over the turf towards
the road. Once there, she opened the throttle and made
the best speed possible.
Harry Thursford seemed to have taken Wendover's
warning, for he put no further questions about the ac-
cident.
"What do you want me to do?" he demanded.
"If Miss Langdale will drop us at the police station, I
think we can manage. Or, no, would you mind waiting
for me and taking me up to the Grange after that? I'd
better bring my own car in case we want more men than
we can cram into the ambulance."
"I'll bring mine, too," Harry volunteered.
"It won't be needed," Wendover objected.
He remembered that Sir Clinton had no desire for a
crowd.
"Well, I'll come along in it, anyhow," Harry per-
sisted.
Viola confined her attention to her driving; and
Wendover was again favourably impressed. Most girls
would have found difficulty in refraining from futile in-
quiries. On the other hand, most girls would have found
time to say at least a word of sympathy or pity for the


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
85
victim. What one gained on the swings, one evidently
lost on the roundabouts, in Viola's case. There was a
streak of hardness alongside her coolness.
When they reached the police station, a car was
standing at the door and on the pavement a small group
of villagers had assembled and were eagerly discussing
something which seemed to cause excitement. Wendover
got out; brushed past them; and as he entered the sta-
tion he was relieved to see the tall figure of Inspector
Severn come out of one of the rooms, closing the door
behind him.
"Oh, Severn! There's been a bad business up at
* Hell's Gape. The Chief Constable's sent me down to
get an ambulance, and some stretcher-bearers, and the
police surgeon. . . ."
"That's all right, sir," Severn replied, to Wendover's
amazement. "I've telephoned over to Ambledown for
the motor-ambulance. It ought to be here any minute
now. And I've rung up Dr. Alloway. He's coming up
with us. And luckily I've been able to lay my hands on
enough men to carry a stretcher. It's all arranged."
"But . . . How the devil do you know anything
about it?" Wendover demanded.
Severn made a gesture towards the room behind
him.
"Mr. Checkley's in there. He brought the news just
a few minutes ago. It seems to be a nasty affair. He's a
bit worked up over it — been sick. It must have been an
ugly sight, I gather. Terrible smash after a fall of that
height."
Wendover nodded. He didn't want to think of that
sight again himself, just then.
"Sir Clinton wants you to bring the ambulance up the
road past the Maiden's Well and park it. I'll show you


86
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
the place. Then we can take the stretcher on from there.
He's up at Hell's Gape himself."
"Oh, on that side?" Severn seemed suddenly enlight-
ened. "I was just wondering why you hadn't come across
Mr. Checkley yourself. But that accounts for it. He
went up to the Gape from the other side, the west, start-
ing off the by-road there by Brookman's farm; and I
expect he came back the same way. You came along
from the east, I take it, and so you didn't run across
him. He must have been a bit ahead of you at the Gape,
and got away again before you put in an appearance.
I gather he didn't stay long on the premises," he added
with a sardonic expression.
Wendover made a slight gesture of understanding.
He could quite imagine that Checkley would not want
to linger in Hell's Gape that afternoon.
"I'm going off to get my car, now," he explained to
Severn. "I'll come back here on the way up, and I can
take four of your people if you want transport. Sir
Clinton's not keen on a crowd, for obvious reasons;
so you needn't rope in more help than we absolutely
need."
With a nod to Severn, he made his way out of the
police station. Viola, he found, had turned the car while
he was inside, so that there was no delay. In a few min-
utes they were at the door of the Grange, where Wen-
dover, after thanking her warmly, turned pointedly away
in the direction of the garage, as a hint that he preferred
to be unaccompanied. Harry Thursford did not appear
to take the hint. He followed Wendover along the gravel
sweep and, when they were out of earshot of the little
car, jerked out an inquiry.
"He's dead, isn't he?"
"Yes. A terrible affair," Wendover admitted.


88
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
with a trunk call to find out the deceased's home ad-
dress," Severn reassured him.
Wendover found that the formal phrase stirred him
uncomfortably. At eleven o'clock that morning there
had been a Mr. Willenhall; now it was "the deceased"
that they had to deal with. To divert his mind from
that lugubrious line of thought, he turned to a fresh
subject.
"What about Mr. Checkley? Is he all right again?
Pulled himself together?"
"He's gone off home," Severn explained. "After he'd
had a drink he seemed a bit better. But there's no doubt
he'd had a bad shake-up by what he saw up there. He
looked mighty white about the gills. Two visits to the
police in one day seem to be more than his nerves can
stand," he added with a grin.
"Two visits?" Wendover queried, out of politeness,
for evidently Severn had thrown out a bait which he
wished to be taken.
"Well, the first one was really a 'phone-call," Severn
admitted. "He rang us up this morning, early, to com-
plain that his office had been burgled last night. I sent
a man round, of course, to look over things. It's nothing
serious: all that seems to be missing is three one-pound
sample tins of coffee and a few shillings out of the petty
cash box. The salient clues were a window smashed to
get at the catch and a filthy handkerchief dropped on
the floor, the kind of handkerchief you might expect
to find on a gutter-brat who'd got it as a christening-
gift and used it ever since. I expect it was used to hold
the catch when the window was opened, for my man
found no clear fingerprints round about there. Kids
know too much nowadays," the Inspector concluded,
gloomily.


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
89
"There was no attempt to open the safe, then?"
Wendover inquired.
"They don't keep coffee or the petty cash in the safe,
and that was what was wanted, apparently. No, the
safe wasn't touched in any way. Besides, Mr. Checkley
says there's nothing in the safe even if it had been
opened, except his books. He keeps no cash on the
premises overnight if he can help it; which is wise
enough, seeing that his place could be entered as easy
as winking except when a constable's actually passing
on the pavement beside it."
His eye caught something on the road, a considerable
distance ahead.
"I see the ambulance in front, there. If you'll blow
your horn twice when you come up behind it, they'll
draw in and give you the road. I gave them instructions
when they started."
In a few minutes, Wendover's car overtook the am-
bulance on a hill and, with some little difficulty, man-
aged to pass it on the narrow road.
"That's all right," said the Inspector, as they drew
ahead. "Hullo! Somebody in a hurry, behind us,
surely."
Wendover glanced at his driving-mirror and recog-
nised Harry Thursford's big two-seater which was roar-
ing up the slope behind them.
"I don't propose to let him pass," he said, as he
turned his eyes to the road in front. "That's a pertina-
cious young devil if you like, Inspector. I've given him
more than one plain hint that he isn't wanted; and
yet here he comes, shoving his nose in as if he were in-
dispensable. Some people have neither tact nor decency.
I know Sir Clinton doesn't want a public meeting up
yonder."


90 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Severn craned out of the window and looked back.
"It's young Mr. Thursford right enough," he con-
firmed. "I'm afraid he'll just have to come along if he
wants to. It's a public road, and we can't stop him.
Queer how this rubber-neck business grips some peo-
ple; and the uglier the sight, the keener they seem on
getting a free peep. But most likely he's just trying to
make himself useful," he added, in a tone which be-
trayed a complete contempt for amateur assistance in
any shape or form.
It did not take them long to reach the point from
which the stretcher-party had to start on foot. Wen-
dover. parked his car on a level bit of turf. Alloway, ar-
riving almost immediately after them, drew up along-
side; then came Harry Thursford's car; and finally
the ambulance rolled up and disgorged two more con-
stables. Wendover constituted himself guide, and they
set off immediately in the direction of Hell's Gape.
Harry Thursford attached himself to Wendover and
Severn; but he had the sense not to talk as they tramped
along. Wendover had no desire for conversation. He
was bracing himself to meet the ugly sight he had seen
earlier in the day. Severn ignored the volunteer com-
pletely. Dr. Alloway, apparently fuming over some
grievance, trudged along in silence, a few yards behind
the others. The constables with the stretcher brought
up the rear.
Wendover directed the march so that instead of fol-
lowing the line that he and Sir Clinton had taken in
the morning, the party crossed the crest immediately
above the grassy scarp and were able to descend di-
rectly to the end of Hell's Gape without disturbing the
ground on the edge of the precipice from which Willen-
hall had fallen. Sir Clinton was sitting on a boulder


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
91
just outside the mouth of the chasm but at sight of
the figures straggling down the slope, he rose to his
feet and came forward to meet Severn.
"Mr. Wendover's told you all about it?" he asked.
"I've left everything untouched, so you can look round
for yourself now. There'll be an inquest, and I don't
want to be dragged to it if that can be avoided. Mr.
Wendover can testify to our finding the body; and you
can do the rest, I think."
Severn understood that the Chief Constable had no
desire to be dragged away from his normal work to
give unnecessary evidence. He agreed at once to the
proposal.
"I'll fix that with the coroner, sir. It'll be all right."
Alloway, with a curt nod to Sir Clinton in passing,
moved over to where Willenhall's body was lying.
"Wait a moment, Doctor," the Chief Constable sug-
gested. "I think we might as well take a photograph
of the body before you shift it. It may give the coro-
ner's jury a clear idea of the state of affairs; save them
a tramp up here, perhaps, to look at the lie of the
land."
He turned to one of the constables.
"Just go up on top there" — he pointed to the lip
of the chasm — "and get a kodak that's lying on the
grass. Carry it by the handle. And don't trample round
too much in getting it."
As the man set off, Sir Clinton turned to Severn.
"A bit like seething a kid in its mother's milk: taking
a picture of a man's corpse with his own camera. Still,
I think we ought to have a record. I know exactly where
the kodak was lying, so there's no harm in shifting it
now."
When the constable returned with the camera, Sir


92
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Clinton took it from him and examined the dial at the
back.
"Number 4," he read. "He's obviously taken three
photographs on this spool and he may have taken a
fourth without winding the film forward after the last
one. We'd better be on the safe side and start ourselves
on No. 5."
He screwed the handle, which worked rather stiffly,
until No. 5 appeared. Then, choosing first one aspect
and then another, he took two photographs of the body
and its surroundings.
"You'd better keep the kodak in your charge," he
said, handing it to Severn when he had finished. "By
the way, you're a photographer yourself, I remember."
Severn was obviously pleased to find that the Chief
Constable had recollected that.
"In that case," Sir Clinton suggested, "I think you'd
better develop these yourself and save needless for-
malities with a photographic expert. You can manage
that all right?"
"Easily enough," Severn assured him. "I see your
point. It saves dragging someone else in to give formal
evidence of the developing."
"And I think," Sir Clinton added, "that it would
save trouble if you develop the roll as one film, without
cutting it; and keep it intact as a single exhibit, instead
of cutting off the separate exposures. You'll be able to
fake up a printing-frame so that you can get prints
from the various negatives, even if they aren't sepa-
rated?"
"Oh, easily enough, sir. No difficulty with that."
"I think I'd leave that film in the camera and take
it out in your dark room," Sir Clinton advised. "From
the way the handle turned, it felt as if he'd put the film


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
93
in slightly off the straight; and that corrugates the
edges a bit. You might get fogging along the edge of
the roll if you took it out. There's no need to risk that."
Alloway was fidgeting in the background, evidently
anxious to start his examination and get it over. At a
gesture from Sir Clinton he fell to work.
"You'd better have a look round at the top of the
cliff," Sir Clinton suggested to Severn. "There's noth-
ing more we can do here until Dr. Alloway's made his
examination. Suppose we climb up yonder."
He led the way up the escarpment, accompanied by
the Inspector. Wendover followed, and Harry Thurston
also attached himself to the party in obvious curiosity.
"This is where his camera was lying," Sir Clinton ex-
plained to Severn, indicating the place as he spoke.
"I've looked over the ground, but there's not much in
the way of traces. He seems to have gone over the edge
somehow — which is a fairly obvious inference," he
added, with a smile. "So far as I can make out, he must
have fallen from this bit of the cliff-top — here — but
there's nothing to show how he slipped."
"He might have had his camera in his hand and been
taking a photograph," Harry Thursford suggested. "If
he was watching his viewfinder and moving to and fro
to get exactly the picture he wanted, he might have
stepped over the edge without looking where he was
going."
"That's so," Severn admitted grudgingly. "You
don't see the ground at your feet in a viewfinder. And
one does get concentrated on the picture so that one
doesn't pay much heed to where one's stepping. It's just
possible."
Sir Clinton shook his head.
"Try again," he said decidedly. "When you feel your-


94
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
self falling, your instinct makes you grip tight on any-
thing you have in your hand; and if it's loose, it falls
with you. Willenhall's kodak would be down below, if
he'd been photographing at the moment when he went
over the edge."
"That's true," Harry Thursford admitted, rather
ruefully. "I hadn't thought of it in that way."
Sir Clinton turned to Severn.
"Another thing you can rule out. He wasn't leaning
on his stick at the brink. His stick's over yonder, well
back from the cliff; and most likely he laid it down
when he began to work with his camera, and needed
both hands."
Severn walked across and examined the stick.
"I see it's got an iron spike in the ferule. There aren't
any holes in the turf that might suggest anything from
that, sir?"
"No, none, so far as I could see," Sir Clinton re-
plied. "I had a fair amount of time on my hands while
I was waiting here, and I went over the ground minutely
along the edge of the cliff. He didn't use his stick there."
He glanced down into the chasm.
"Dr. Alloway's still busy. There's just one thing more
up here: one of these metal sandwich-cases."
"I noticed it, amongst the grass near his stick,"
Severn answered. "It's open and the paper's unfolded
from one of the sandwiches. Looks rather as if he'd
just started on his lunch and had got up to look over
the cliff when ... It may have been an attack of
vertigo that made him stagger."
"Possibly," Sir Clinton admitted, without claiming
that he himself had thrown out the same suggestion to
Wendover earlier in the afternoon. "There doesn't
seem much to go upon, one way or another. We may


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
95
as well go down. You can have another look round later
on, if you want to."
Severn hesitated for a moment and then picked up
the stick and the sandwich-case, as though satisfied that
he had seen all that was to be seen. Wendover guessed
that, since Sir Clinton had spent the best part of an
hour on the ground and had detected nothing, the In-
spector was not optimistic about unearthing much by
a further search. Severn had worked hand-in-hand with
the Chief Constable before, and had come out of that
experience with a very modest estimate of his own de-
tective ability when compared with that of his supe-
rior.
They descended again to the open space at the end
of Hell's Gape. The doctor was still busy with his exam-
ination, halting at intervals to jot down something in
his pocket-book. As they stood waiting for him to
finish, Sir Clinton turned to Harry Thursford.
"You'll probably be called as a witness at the in-
quest," he pointed out. "As a matter of form, it may
be necessary to trace out Willenhall's movements in
the forenoon. You can carry the tale up to the time he
left you to come up here. About midday, that was,
wasn't it?"
"I'll put it as near as I can for you," Harry volun-
teered. "We walked up together to that little dingle
where you found us picnicking this morning. I'd ar-
ranged to meet Miss Langdale there at 12 o'clock.
Willenhall didn't stop. He went straight on towards
here. I waited about ten minutes, I should guess, before
Miss Langdale turned up. She's usually punctual to a
minute and she's been up to that place often, so I ex-
pect she was just on time. That would mean that Willen-
hall left me about ten to twelve or a quarter to, per-


96
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
haps. I can't put it closer, because I didn't look at my
watch then; but it's a fair guess, I think."
"It's about a twenty-minute walk up from the road,"
Severn interposed. "That means that he would reach
here shortly after twelve."
"Unless he dawdled a bit," Sir Clinton pointed out.
"He was a person with a turn for the picturesque, Mr.
Wendover told me once. A man of that sort might turn
aside here and there from the direct route and waste
time."
"He certainly didn't hurry while he was with me,"
Harry put in. "And I remember he was a bit finicky
about his snapshots. He put me through it about how
the sun fell on these pinnacles and what time he was
likely to get the shadows of them on the cliff face. I did
what I could to help him, of course; but as I've only
been up at this damned place once before, and that was
years ago, I couldn't tell him much more than that it
N ran north and south, with the pinnacles on the south
side. Quite likely, when he got here, he found that the
shadows didn't come just where he wanted them."
"And sat down to eat his lunch to pass the time?"
Severn suggested.
Sir Clinton turned and looked into the mouth of the
chasm. The sun was westering now, and its rays shot
slant-wise into the Gape, throwing triangular shadows
of the great rock-fangs upon the vertical face of the
northern cliff.
"That's very striking," Sir Clinton said in a tone of
frank admiration. "I've never seen a place quite like
this before. It looks a bit grim, even in this sunshine.
In the twilight, it must be on the edge of awe-inspiring,
I should think. The kind of place that would make you
wonder what might come creeping out on you from


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
97
the abyss. You'd be quite prepared for a prehistoric
monster."
He seemed to ignore the sinister group in the fore-
ground and let his eye run over the rugged walls of
the chasm as if in pure aesthetic pleasure. Then, rather
irrelevantly, he observed:
"I've often wondered about that miracle of Isaiah's."
Severn was completely at sea.
"What miracle, sir?"
Wendover, with more experience in following the line
of Sir Clinton's thoughts, saw the reference. He glanced
up at the long triangular shadows.
"You mean the Dial of Ahaz?"
"Yes. You ought to read your Bible, Inspector. Try
the Second Book of Kings, amongst the last four or
five chapters, and you'll find it. It's just before the bit
about 'Berodach-baladan, son of Baladan, king of
Babylon,' which always sticks in my mind on account
of the names."
Severn would obviously have liked more enlighten-
ment; but at that moment Alloway snapped his bag as
though to show that he had finished his work. Sir Clin-
ton walked into the chasm, followed by the others. As
they entered it, they felt as though the sun had sud-
denly passed behind a cloud. By contrast with the
brilliant sunshine a few yards away, the cleft seemed
almost in twilight.
"Not much difficulty about this," Alloway pro-
nounced abruptly. "Skull's badly fractured; he seems
to have come down on his head. Two ribs broken on
left side, by this ridge on the rock, I expect. Internal
injuries as well, probably. They'll have to wait till I
get a P. M. done. The damage to the head's quite enough
to cause immediate death."


98
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"Can you estimate how long he's been dead?" Severn
inquired.
"Eh? Not accurately. Body temperature's now 74°.
But the air's warm and the ground's cool. A bit hard to
guess what the rate of cooling's been in a case of this
kind. Anywhere between two and six hours might fit.
I shouldn't care to go closer than that."
"You can't suggest any reason for his fall?" Severn
pursued. "Vertigo, or something like that?"
"My dear man, I'm not a clairvoyant. I don't think
he had an epileptic seizure, though it's possible, of
course. But if you ask me to diagnose whether his head
was swimming or not, it can't be done. Not by me, at
least. His family doctor might know if he was subject
to that sort of thing. I don't."
Severn, accustomed to Alloway's brusque manner,
took no offence. The doctor picked up his bag.
"That's all I can do here. I'll arrange with you later
about the P. M. There'll be an inquest, of course? All
right. I must get away."
With a cavalier nod, he walked out of the cleft and
began to climb the escarpment.
"You'd better see if there's anything in the pockets,"
Sir Clinton suggested to Severn.
Rather gingerly, the Inspector set to work, noting
down each article in his pocket-book as he came
across it.
"Take the jacket-pocket that's uppermost, first of all.
Two rolls of film, unexposed. Two more rolls, been ex-
posed, evidently. They're six-exposure rolls, all of them.
That's all there. Breast-pocket, a note-case with some
notes and postage-stamps in it. A letter with a type-
written address and the local post-mark."
"Let's have a look at that before we go any further,"


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
99
Sir Clinton directed, holding out his hand for the en-
velope.
"This will interest you, Wendover," he remarked
after a glance at the contents. "It's a carbon copy of
that threatening letter you got in this morning's post.
Listen to this, Inspector."
He read the document aloud for Severn's benefit;
then, without comment, returned it to its envelope.
"Anything else in the pockets?"
"A cigarette-holder and a penknife in one, a petrol
lighter in another, and a fountain-pen in the left upper
pocket. That's all in the waistcoat. Right-hand trouser-
pocket: small bunch of keys and a few coppers. Hip-
pocket: a gold cigarette-case," Severn reported.
He snapped his fingers, and a constable came for-
ward and helped him to turn the body into a fresh
position.
"Left-hand jacket-pocket, nothing but a flask with
a silver cup on the butt of it. Flask's smashed, of course,
in the fall. Seems to have been whiskey and water in
it, apparently, but it's all run out. Trouser-pocket, some
loose silver. That's the lot."
"Not much of a haul, so far as information goes,"
Sir Clinton commented, though without any disappoint-
ment in his tone. "Want to have another prowl round,
Inspector, before we pack up and go?"
"You've told me everything you've found yourself,
sir?"
Sir Clinton nodded.
"Well, in that case, I think I'll let it go at that,"
Severn decided. "I haven't seen anything myself, be-
yond what you'd found; and I don't suppose I'd spot
anything fresh if I looked again. If you're quite satis-
fied now, we'd better make our way back."


100
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Sir Clinton agreed. Severn gave orders to his con-
stables. The body was lifted onto the stretcher and the
mournful little procession filed out of the jaws of the
chasm into the sunlight beyond. As they emerged,
Wendover glanced back into the gloom of the ravine.
"Not many people will want to linger about here in
the dusk after this," he reflected. "It was ugly enough
before. Now it'll have the name of being haunted as
well. It looks it."
At the crest of the slope, Sir Clinton paused and be-
gan to examine the landscape. The stretcher-party con-
tinued its way down the farther descent, but Wendover,
Thursford and the Inspector halted with the Chief Con-
stable.
Below them, on their right, they could see Alloway's
figure receding steadily towards the tiny grey spot
which marked the position of the ambulance. On the
left, the crest bent slightly northward and concealed the
further horizon.
"What's beyond that?" Sir Clinton demanded, turn-
ing to Wendover.
"Much the same sort of country. Half an hour's walk
would bring you to a road. There's an isolated farm
there: Brookman's Farm. It's on the far side of the
road and a bit back from it. That's the nearest inhabited
place round about here, though there are scattered cot-
tages farther up the road."
"Mr. Checkley came up that way, sir," Severn put in.
"He was really the first person to find the body."
In a few words he explained to Sir Clinton how the
news had been brought to him.
"Luckily, he left things alone," was Sir Clinton's
comment, when the Inspector had finished.
Harry Thursford had kept silent for a long time;


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
101
but now, to Wendover's annoyance, he began to specu-
late on the manner of the tragedy.
"I suppose it must have been a sudden attack of
giddiness," he opined. "There wasn't anything up on
the edge there that he could have stubbed his toe on or
tripped over. It's plain turf right up to the rim of the
drop. Or d'you think he may have been kneeling down
and bending over to get a flower, or something, on the
cliff face?"
"There weren't any flowers there. I looked," said
Sir Clinton in a discouraging tone.
"He couldn't have lost his balance in a gust of wind,
and toppled over the edge?"
"Not in a dead calm," Wendover objected. "There
hasn't been a breath of wind since the morning."
"That's so," Harry confirmed, after reflection. "So
it wasn't that. Well, unless he turned giddy, I don't see
how it happened. It's a bit mysterious, isn't it? I mean,
hundreds of people must have been up there at one time
or other out of curiosity, and yet none of them fell over.
Why should he? He couldn't have been trying to shin
down the rock-face, because there was an easy grass
slope to get down by, in plain sight."
He shrugged his shoulders with the air of one who
abandons a problem which he finds too difficult.
Sir Clinton had apparently seen all that he wanted.
"We may as well go down now," he suggested, setting
the example.
Wendover joined him. Harry Thursford, not caring
to attach himself to the two friends, had to drop into
step with the Inspector, who followed at a few yards
distance. No one seemed much inclined to talk; and
almost in silence they made their way back to the place
where the cars had been parked. Alloway's was gone;


102 . THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
but the ambulance was still standing by the roadside
along with the two others. As Sir Clinton appeared, the
constables rose from the grass where they had been
sitting, and awaited orders.
"You've put the stretcher in?" Sir Clinton asked.
"Yes, sir."
Sir Clinton glanced round the group and then at the
cars, as though estimating numbers.
"We're a bit short of room now," he commented.
"Eight of us to get home somehow. One on the am-
bulance . . ."
"I've got a dickey-seat," Harry Thursford broke in.
Sir Clinton seemed relieved.
"Oh, then that's all right," he said. "One constable
on the ambulance with the driver; the other three with
you; and the rest of us can get into Mr. Wendover's
car."
And without giving anyone time to question this ar-
rangement, he motioned Wendover to get in and then
took the seat beside him. The Inspector jumped in be-
hind; and Wendover, glad to be quit of Harry Thursford
and his speculations, started the engine and drove off
at once.
When they had gone a hundred yards or so, Sir
Clinton turned round to Severn.
"It looks a plain enough affair. An attack of vertigo
would fit the facts, obviously. And yet . . ."
"You don't think it was an accident?" the Inspector
queried.
"I've no opinion, one way or the other," Sir Clinton
admitted frankly. "But just to be on the safe side, I
think you'd better develop the whole lot of these ex-
posed films and see what's on them. Handle them care-
fully and don't cut the negatives away from each other.


ENTER INSPECTOR SEVERN
103
One never knows what may turn up. We might want
proof of the order in which they were taken; and if
they're kept intact, it's easier to see which came first on
each roll. Once you start cutting, you'd have to number
them, and so on."
"Very good, sir. I'll attend to that."
"And you may as well be able to produce everything
at the inquest, backing-paper, spools, and labels. It's
as well to be thorough when one starts."
"I'll see that's done, sir. By the way, I suppose it's
that threatening letter we found in his pocket that's
making you doubtful about it being a pure accident?"
There seemed to be a hint of mischief in the faint
smile which crossed Sir Clinton's face at this remark.
"I'll rely on you to form your own opinion on that
letter, after you've gone into the matter a bit more
thoroughly," he said, in a serious tone. "Once you've
done that, we can compare notes. I don't want to preju-
dice you by telling you what I think about it."
"Well, of course, in its form it's a blackmailing de-
mand," the Inspector admitted. "Question is, was it
meant as anything more than a joke?"
Sir Clinton evaded a direct answer.
"As Saint Paul observed to Timothy: 'They that de-
sire to be rich fall into a temptation,' " he quoted.
"Then do you think . . . ?" the Inspector persisted.
"I'll tell you exactly what I think," Sir Clinton said,
with an unusual display of frankness. "I think there's
a lot of money going to change hands over this affair,
as Mr. Wendover can tell you. And I agree with Saint
Paul that the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.
But there isn't a scrap of evidence that I can see which
shows that Willenhall didn't come to his death by a pure
accident."


CHAPTER VIII: THE INQUEST
The possible composition of the coroner's jury had
given Wendover some qualms. The Novem Syndicate
had attained a national notoriety owing to its success
in the draw; and the inquest on Willenhall would be re-
ported in many of the bigger newspapers merely be-
cause he had been one of the members. Obviously the
whole of the Syndicate's affairs would be dragged into
the limelight in the course of the inquiry. That was al-
most unavoidable. But if one of the jurors proved to be
a fussy and inquisitive fellow, he might insist on asking
questions which had no real connection with the case;
and Wendover had no desire for more publicity.
However, as he glanced from face to face, he heaved
a faint sigh of relief. He knew every man of them, and
none was likely to show the slightest initiative. It was
a jury which would depend entirely upon the coroner
and be quite content with the information which was
vouchsafed to it.
His glance passed to some of the other people in the
room. The coroner he knew: a man who would extract
all the information which was necessary but who would
not turn himself into a juge d'instruction and fish for
irrelevant details. Wendover nodded to Halstead, young
Thurston, Checkley, Alloway, and the Inspector, who
had obviously been called as witnesses. In the back-
ground he caught sight of Mr. Monyash, who was
cleaning his nails with a toothpick to pass the time. Be-
side him was a clean-shaven alert stranger whom Wen-


106
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"I believe he meant to go off this week, sometime.
There was nothing definitely arranged. That is merely
my impression. I was quite glad to have him as a visitor.
I was engaged during the day, and he spent the time
wandering about the district, photographing things
which took his fancy. He was interested in photogra-
phy."
"Here is a kodak camera. Can you identify it as the
property of the deceased?"
Halstead examined the instrument.
"It's a No. 1A Kodak, the same as I use myself occa-
sionally. To the best of my knowledge this is the camera
belonging to the deceased, but I really cannot swear to
it being his. I never examined his camera closely."
"The deceased was a member of a Syndicate, the
Novem Syndicate, which drew the second horse in the
Hospitals Sweep?"
"That is so."
"You were not a member of this Syndicate yourself?"
"No, I had no interest in the matter, unfortunately.
I was offered a ticket, but refused it."
"You had no business dealings with the deceased?"
"None whatever, in any shape or form. Our relation-
ship was purely of a friendly nature."
"On the morning of June 13th — the day of his
death — the deceased received a letter by the first
post?"
"Yes, he got it at breakfast time and passed it across
to me. It was a carbon copy, not a ribbon copy, and it
was signed 'Big-headed Ben the Gunman.'"
"You identify this as the document you mention?"
Halstead glanced at the paper which the coroner
handed to him.
"That appears to be the document which I saw. It is


THE INQUEST 107
in the same terms, at least, so far as I remember
them."
The coroner took back the paper and read the letter
to the jury.
"What impression did you form of this document?"
"Mr. Willenhall laughed at it and said something
about 'Boys will be boys,' I remember. Neither of us
took it seriously."
"Do you take it more seriously now?"
"No," said Halstead frankly, "I don't. I put it down
to practical joking or to some boy who has been to the
pictures oftener than's good for him."
"You can't regard it as likely to throw any light on
the deceased's death, then?"
"Not in the slightest. That's my opinion, merely."
"The deceased was not worried by it?"
"Not at all. He laughed over it and put it in his pocket
merely as a curiosity."
"Did he give you any indication of his plans on the
morning of his death?"
Halstead shook his head decidedly.
"No. I had no idea what he meant to do."
"Did you ever detect any tendency to vertigo in
him?"
"He never mentioned anything of the sort to me. I
believe you can suffer from giddiness as a result of in-
digestion, but so far as I know his digestion was all
right. He didn't complain of it."
The coroner seemed satisfied with this evidence, but
just as he was about to dismiss the witness, his eye was
caught by Monyash's companion, and this seemed to
remind him of a question which he had not put.
"Just one more point, Mr. Halstead. During your ac-
quaintance with Mr. Willenhall did you ever see any-


108 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
thing which might suggest that he had suicidal tenden-
cies?"
"Never," Halstead declared emphatically.
"And as he was living on a private income, you saw
no signs of business troubles?"
"None."
"In conversation with you, did he ever say that he
speculated?"
"No. In fact, when we did discuss financial questions
I remember that he always argued in favour of gilt-
edged stocks. He was quite averse to speculation; and
if you are suggesting that he may have had heavy losses,
I can only say that I got no hint of any such state of
affairs."
The coroner made a gesture which showed that he ac-
cepted this without ado. Halstead went back to his
seat, and his place was taken by a fresh witness, Josiah
Napton, the village druggist.
"The deceased used to purchase his photographic
films at your shop, didn't he?" the coroner inquired.
"Yes, he used to come in every second day or so to
buy some. He also had his films developed by me and
prints made from them."
"Do you recall any other purchases which he made?"
"I don't remember any other purchases, but once he
came in asking for a new shutter release cable. I
couldn't supply it from stock; and he said he thought
his present one would last until I could order one for
him."
"When did he purchase films from you last?"
"On the morning of his death. He came into my shop
about a quarter to-ten and bought four spools for his
kodak."
"You never saw his camera, I suppose?"


THE INQUEST
109
Napton shook his head.
"No, he never showed it to me. He bought spools for
a No. 1A, so it must have been that model that he had."
"Are you sure about the time of his last visit?"
"I am, fairly. I had an appointment with a traveller
from one of the wholesale firms at ten o'clock that
morning. He came just as Mr. Willenhall was going out,
and I remember I said something to him about being
more eager than usual — just a little joke, you under-
stand — and it turned out his watch was wrong. So I
gave him the right time from my own watch. That's
how I'm fairly sure of the time when Mr. Willenhall
left my place."
The coroner seemed to have no further questions for
this witness. Harry Thursford was the next person sum-
moned to give evidence.
"You had an appointment with the deceased on the
morning of his death?" the coroner began.
"Yes. I had offered to show him the Maiden's Well.
It's not far off the road, but a stranger might easily miss
it, and I volunteered to take him to it. We arranged to
meet at Crowland Corner and I had a note from him —
here it is — fixing 10.45 a. m."
The coroner took the note and read it through aloud
for the benefit of the jury.
June 12 th.
Dear Mr. Thursford,
Thanks for your offer to show me the road to the Maiden's
Well, and to point out the way to Hell's Gape afterwards.
If we meet at Crowland's Corner at 10.45 a. m. it will suit
me very well. Thanks for your kindness.
Yours sincerely
G. Willenhall


110
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"Was he on time when you met him?"
"I was there first," Harry Thursford explained. "But
he did not keep me waiting. I looked at my watch just
before he came round the corner, and it was between
twenty and a quarter to eleven then."
"There are several roads from here up to Crowland's
Corner?"
"Yes, there are a couple of short cuts and there's the
main road as well. By the short cuts it's about a mile and
a half or a mile and three quarters, I should think; along
the main road it's about four miles, owing to the way the
road curls round the Talgarth Grange ground."
"Which route had he taken?"
"I really can't say," Harry admitted. "The short cuts
join the main road a bit before Crowland's Corner. He
came along the main road to meet me, but for all I know
he may have come by one of the short cuts — either
the one near the lake or the other one — and dawdled
a bit by the way, taking photographs. All I really know
is that I met him at Crowland's Corner at about a
quarter to eleven. I didn't ask him which way he had
come up."
"From what you saw of him, would you say he was a
good walker?"
"I should say that he'd had plenty of practice and
was very fit," Harry answered in a decided tone. "He
was a fast walker, if anything. I should think four miles
an hour would be his normal pace on a road."
"What happened when you met?"
Harry reflected for a moment or two.
"We stood about for a few minutes, looking at the
view from there. He got me to point out various places
to him, down below. We talked about this and that, and
then we moved on up the road. It's about a mile — or


THE INQUEST 111
rather less, I think — to the place where you turn off
to the Maiden's Well. We left the road there . . ."
"That would be about eleven o'clock, then?" the
coroner interjected.
"About then. It's a quarter of an hour's walk to the
Well — there or thereabouts. I sat down*while he poked
about a bit with his camera and took some photographs.
At a guess, I'd say we were about ten minutes or a
quarter of an hour at the Well. Then we made our way
back to the road again. After that we dawdled up the
hill. I was in no hurry, as I had an appointment at noon,
and I didn't want to hang about as I'd have had to do
if I hurried. I remember I looked at my watch when we
left the Well and it was just about half-past eleven then,
unless I've made a mistake. We walked slowly up from
there, and when we got to the turn-off for Hell's Gape,
I showed him the way and let him go off at once. I didn't
press him to stay, because my fiancee had arranged
to meet me there at midday, and to tell the truth I
didn't want to run the risk of his joining our picnic.
Miss Langdale arrived about five minutes after he'd
gone."
"You didn't see him making his way up to Hell's
Gape?"
Harry Thursford shook his head.
"No. From where we were sitting, the trees come in
the way and you can't see the track up towards the
Gape."
"What happened after that?" the coroner asked.
"Miss Langdale and I sat there for some time. We
had a picnic. She'd brought some lunch up in her car.
Just after we'd finished lunch, Sir Clinton Driffield and
Mr. Wendover turned up. That was at a quarter past
two, for I happened to look at my watch then. They


112
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
talked with us for a few minutes and then went on
towards the Gape."
"You and Miss Langdale remained behind, of
course?"
"Yes. The next thing was Mr. Wendover coming
back with the news that Mr. Willenhall had had an ac-
cident, a serious accident. He didn't say he was dead.
We three went off for assistance, in Miss Langdale's
car."
"What time was that, can you remember?"
"It was five minutes to three. I looked at my watch
carefully then, for I had an idea that the time might be
important. I made a note of it later on."
The coroner nodded as though terminating that part
of the subject.
"You are a member of this Novem Syndicate, I be-
lieve?" he demanded.
"Yes."
"Have you received a copy of this threatening letter
which has already been communicated to the jury?"
"Yes, all of us seem to have got one. Mine was a
carbon copy like that sent to Mr. Willenhall."
"Did you mention it to Mr. Willenhall?"
"Yes, we discussed it. Not very seriously. We thought
it rather a joke. I don't take it very seriously even now.
It's rather rumly phrased if you look at it."
The coroner evidently felt that he was allowing
Harry Thursford to wander from the point. Abruptly
he switched off on to a new subject.
"You did not notice any signs of vertigo in the de-
ceased that morning?"
Harry Thursford reflected carefully before answer-
ing.
"No," he said at length, "I can't say I did. I sug-


THE INQUEST 113
gested at the Maiden's Well that he might get a good
snapshot by climbing up the rock-face a bit and he put
the idea aside. He may have been afraid of turning
giddy; but he certainly didn't say so. I got the idea that
his artistic ideas and mine didn't agree and that he
thought poorly of my notion. That was what I thought
at the time."
This seemed to satisfy the coroner, for he allowed
Harry Thursford to stand down. Checkley was called
next; and as he gave his evidence, Wendover noticed
that he must have prepared it well beforehand, for he
had very little hesitation at any point.
"You are a manufacturer of confectionery, Mr.
Checkley?" the coroner began, evidently leading up to
some point which Wendover could not forecast at the
moment.
"Yes. My main line's Checkley's Kreematic Toffee.
I run one or two side-lines as well. Checkley's Ginger
Crunchers is one. Checkley's Orchard Refreshers is
another. I'm on the look-out for new ideas in the con-
fectionery line."
Wendover was slightly disgusted by what he took to
be an attempt on Checkley's part to advertise his wares
in connection with a case which was bound to receive
wide publicity.
"Damn the fellow," he reflected, biting his mous-
tache. "He'd turn a funeral into an advertisement
pageant if he got half a chance. I suppose he's out for
cheap publicity; hopes this puff will be reproduced in
the reports. Why doesn't the coroner sit on him?"
But the coroner seemed to have no intention of doing
so. In fact, he appeared inclined to encourage Checkley.
"Then naturally a hint of something fresh in the way
of a recipe would attract your attention at once?"


114
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"I'd be on to anything like that, straight away."
"You received a suggestion on these lines from the
deceased?"
"I did. He wrote me a note about it."
"Thank you." The coroner held out his hand and
took the sheet of paper which Checkley held out. "I see
that it is typewritten, like the one which Mr. Thursford
produced in the course of his evidence. I had better read
it for the benefit of the jury:—
June 12th.
Dear Mr. Checkley,
It occurs to me that as a manufacturer you might be
interested in new recipes for sweetmeats. In my walks round
the district I happened to light on something which might
be worth your attention.
I chanced to stop at a small cottage off the road to ask
for a drink of water as I was very thirsty. The old lady
asked me into her house and I noticed a large glass jar
filled with a rather attractive-looking sweetmeat. In casual
conversation I learned that the sweetmeat was of her own
make prepared from an old family recipe and flavoured with
herbs which she collects. She sells it locally to a very small
clientele under the name of Herb Suckit which I take to be
a corruption of the old word "sucket" for a sweetmeat.
Being anxious to repay her kindness to me I purchased
a small quantity. And as she assured me that it was excel-
lent for quenching thirst I tried some of it on my way home
and found it novel and attractive in taste.
It occurs to me that by putting you in touch with my late
hostess I might do a service to both of you. I cannot direct
you to her cottage as I did not ask her name and the route
I followed was rather intricate but I could find my way back
there without difficulty.


THE INQUEST 115
Tomorrow I have arranged to pay a visit to Hell's Gape
and shall be coming down from it by the path which leads on
to the road near Brookman's Farm. If you care to meet me
there with a car I shall be very glad to guide you to the
cottage so that you may judge for yourself whether the thing
appeals to you or not. I shall be at Brookman's Farm at
1.30 p. M.
Yours faithfully
G. WlLLENHALL
The coroner, having finished reading the letter, put
it down on the table before him and turned to Check-
ley.
"You received this letter by the post?"
"Yes. First post on Saturday, June 13th. Saturday's
a half-day at my factory, so I'd no difficulty about keep-
ing the appointment. I went up to Brookman's Farm,
arrived there just about half-past one. There was no
sign of the deceased, so I waited a while. After twenty
minutes or so I got bored doing nothing. It occurred
to me I might as well leave the car and walk up the hill
to meet the deceased. I didn't see any sign of him, so I
walked on and on, expecting him to appear at any mo-
ment. Finally, I got so near the Gape that I thought I
might as well go the whole way before turning back.
It crossed my mind that he might have sprained an
ankle or something like that. I got up to the Gape, and
found the body of the deceased on the floor of the Gape.
He was obviously dead, which was a great shock to me.
It made me quite sick. I looked at my watch as I came
away in search of assistance. It was then twenty past
two. I touched nothing about the deceased. I did not go
up to the top of the cliff. My whole idea was to get away
again and summon help. I went straight back to my car


116
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
and drove down at once to the police station here, where
I met Inspector Severn. I told him what I had found
and left him to do the rest. After that I went home. I
had had a very bad shock, coming upon the thing unex-
pectedly like that."
"Your impression was that he had fallen from the
cliff?"
"Of course. The injuries I saw couldn't have been
caused in any other way that I can think of."
The coroner appeared to have come to the end of his
inquiries except for the familiar question:
"You received a copy of this threatening letter which
has already been mentioned several times?"
"Yes, I did — a carbon copy."
"Did you attach any importance to it when you re-
ceived it?"
"None whatever. And I don't attach any importance
to it now."
"You think it merely a joke?"
"A very silly sort of joke," amplified the witness, with
a sneer.
When Checkley was dismissed, Wendover found him-
self called by the coroner. Just as he had feared, the
whole story of the Novem Syndicate was dragged out:
the formation of it at the bridge-party, the complica-
tions resulting from Blackburn's death, the new agree-
ment, and the application to the High Court. While
concealing nothing, Wendover took care to make his
evidence as colourless as possible so as to give very little
chance to the sensational press, if they chose to deal
with the case. After this side of the matter had been
thrashed out, the coroner turned to the actual tragedy,
and Wendover described his meeting with Harry Thurs-
ford and Viola Langdale, as well as the succeeding


THE INQUEST
117
events up to the time when the body was brought away
in the ambulance.
The coroner produced a kodak camera and asked
Wendover if he could identify it as Willenhall's.
Wendover shook his head.
"I can't identify it definitely," he admitted as he
turned it over in his hands. "If it belonged to Mr. Wil-
lenhall, I should expect to find the cable of the shutter-
release badly worn."
He pressed the stud, opened out the front, and ex-
amined the part.
"This shutter-release cable is very badly worn. To
that extent, I feel inclined to say that this is Mr. Willen-
hall's camera. But that is as far as I can go."
The coroner asked Harry Thursford to come for-
ward and look at the instrument.
"I had Mr. Willenhall's camera in my hands for a
minute or so at the Maiden's Well," Harry explained. "I
noticed that the leather was worn about the red window
and a bit had been gouged out of the edge near there,
probably by the camera falling at one time. Also, there
was a scratch on the autographic flap. This camera has
all these points, and I'm practically certain that this is
Mr. Willenhall's instrument. But that's as far as I care
to go. These kodaks are all standardised and although I
noticed the flaws I've described, I only had the thing in
my hands for a moment or two, and I'd no particular
reason for paying special attention to it."
The coroner indicated that the jury could make up
their minds on the point. As they would see shortly, the
camera was important. He would call their attention to
the fact that two witnesses had mentioned the defective
cable which the camera obviously had; and another
witness had identified it by a totally different piece of


118
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
evidence. He ordered the kodak to be passed to the jury
so that they might examine the features for themselves.
While they were looking it over, he went on with his
examination of Wendover.
"You received a copy of this threatening letter, I be-
lieve, Mr. Wendover?"
"Yes. The ribbon copy of it was sent to me. I attached
no importance to it. Sir Clinton Driffield, the Chief
Constable, was staying with me at the time and I showed
it to him. He seemed to take the same view of it as I
did — that it was a boy's prank — and he proposed to
get Inspector Severn to set a trap for the author. I
handed the letter to Sir Clinton to give to Inspector
Severn."
The coroner produced a paper and showed it to Wen-
dover.
"Yes, that's the letter I got," Wendover swiftly con-
firmed.
"You don't attach any importance to this letter in
connection with Mr. Willenhall's death?"
"None whatever. If you read the letter, you'll see
that it demands £10,000 to be paid within twenty-four
hours of the letter's being posted. No blackmailer who
meant business would make an absurd provision like
that. Further, it threatens that 'if you don't fork out the
money' one of the Syndicate will be murdered. But Mr.
Willenhall came to his death half a day before the ex-
piration of their time-limit; it was on the midnight of
the day of his death that the money was to be handed
over. It seems to me that there's nothing more than a
coincidence there — a rather gruesome coincidence, I
admit, but nothing more than that."
"The jury will take a careful note of the point you've
made, Mr. Wendover. It certainly throws some clear


THE INQUEST 119
light on the subject and helps us to assess this letter at
its proper value."
Wendover was glad to escape and made way for Al-
loway, the police surgeon, who gave technical evidence
as to the injuries which Willenhall had sustained.
"Did you examine the contents of the stomach?" the
coroner asked after Alloway had finished his account.
The police surgeon's habitual air of a man with a
grievance was intensified by this inquiry.
"There was nothing abnormal in the stomach con-
tents," he snapped. "So far as I could see, he'd had
nothing since his breakfast and the digestion seemed
quite normal."
"Then, so far as you could see, he hadn't been taking
a dose of a drug which might have made him giddy and
so caused him to fall from the cliff?"
"I found nothing of the sort."
"You didn't find anything in his flask?"
Alloway's air of irritation grew even more marked.
"His flask was smashed in the fall. There was nothing
left in it except a drop or two of his whiskey."
The coroner seemed to attach little importance to his
own suggestion, which he had apparently thrown out on
the spur of the moment.
Wendover, reflecting on the scene, was struck by the
way in which individuality vanished when people be-
gan to give evidence. They all sounded very much alike
in their language. He remembered that he had noted
this point in reading short-hand notes of murder trials;
and was interested to find it confirmed by practical ex-
perience. All witnesses seemed to be divested of their
normal turns of speech and to express themselves in the
plainest and simplest possible way, so that there was a
strong common resemblance between the different testi-


120
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
monies. That gave a slightly inhuman touch to the
affair, he observed. It was like the uniformity which one
might expect from robots rather than the diversity of
normal human beings.
When the coroner called Inspector Severn to give
evidence, Wendover brought his attention back to the
case before him. He knew Severn well and had experi-
ence of his thoroughness in a case which had been staged
in his own boat-house. In this affair of Willenhall, how-
ever, he did not see much chance for Severn's exhaustive
methods. The Inspector had come into the case even
later than Wendover himself and had seen no more than
he had seen in the later stages. It seemed difficult to
imagine that he had anything fresh to contribute. And
yet his knowledge of the Inspector's mannerisms gave
him a hint that this evidence would be different from
that of the other witnesses.
Severn opened his statement with a description of
Checkley's arrival at the police station with the news
of the Hell's Gape tragedy. He then passed lightly over
the intervening events until he reached the point when
the Chief Constable had led them to examine the ground
at the top of the cliff.
"The following articles," he explained, "were found
within a few yards of the point from which the deceased
must have fallen. First, there was a sandwich-case lying
open on the grass, with one of the packets in it partly
unrolled as though the deceased had just begun his
preparations for lunch. This is the sandwich-case" (he
held it up) "which is of the normal pattern, made to pack
flat after the contents have been used. The second arti-
cle was a walking-stick with a steel point on the ferule,
like an alpenstock. That has been identified by several
persons as the stick which the deceased always took


THE INQUEST
121
with him on his walks. Finally, there was this kodak,
which we have every reason to assume to be the one used
by the deceased in his expeditions."
He held up the camera which had already been shown
to Wendover and Harry Thursford.
"When Sir Clinton Driffield picked up this kodak,
there was in it a roll-film of six exposures. Three of these
had already been exposed, and the dial indicated No. 4.
After I arrived on the scene, Sir Clinton Driffield
screwed the spool forward to No. 5. On this No. 5 and
on No. 6 section, he took two photographs of the body
of the deceased as it lay before it had been in any way
disturbed. These two photographs give a clear picture
of the body and its surroundings. With the coroner's
permission, I shall exhibit them to the members of the
jury."
At a sign from the coroner, he passed the two prints
to the foreman and waited whilst the jury had inspected
them. When he had received them back again, he con-
tinued his narrative.
"In the pockets of the deceased, we discovered two
rolls of film which had been exposed in the camera and
two other rolls with the seals unbroken, which had evi-
dently not been used. Each roll was a six-exposure roll;
so that including the three exposures on the roll in the
kodak itself, there was evidence that the deceased had
taken fifteen photographs."
Severn produced a bag which he had brought with
him, and from it took three long strips of developed
negatives.
"I developed all five rolls of film, keeping the strips
intact so as to preserve the relative positions of the vari-
ous exposures. Two of the films — those with the mak-
ers' seals unbroken — yielded nothing on development.


122
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
I didn't expect anything on them, of course; but it's well
to be thorough."
He held up the three strips of film on which the nega-
tive pictures could be seen.
"These are the three remaining strips: one from the
camera and two from the pocket of the deceased. As you
will see in a moment, they were all taken that morning
by the deceased, and it is possible to establish the order
of the exposures. I have marked the three films re-
spectively Exhibits A, B, and C. Exhibit A is the one
which was first exposed; then comes the second roll used
by him, Exhibit B; and finally the roll taken from the
camera itself, on which he had taken three pictures be-
fore his death, Exhibit C. Each roll contains six ex-
posures in order, so that by numbering these 1,2,3 . . .
etc. I can refer to a particular film without having to
trouble the jury with detailed description."
He dipped into his bag again and produced a number
of strips of bromide prints taken from the various nega-
tives. One of these sets he handed to the coroner, the
others he passed over to the jury.
"These positives are taken from the negatives I
showed you; and for convenience I have numbered the
prints according to the scheme I mentioned. For example,
if you look at Exhibit C, No. 5, you will find one of the
photographs of the body taken by Sir Clinton Driffield.
The exposure before that is blank — that is, Exhibit C,
No. 4 — because Sir Clinton screwed the film one space
forward before taking the picture lest the deceased had
used No. 4 and had not screwed the film on before his
death."
Wendover, examining the jury, could see that they
handled the photographs with a blend of curiosity and
awe. By some queer association of memory, there


THE INQUEST 123
drifted into his mind the spell from Ingoldsby's Hand of
Glory: —
Open lock, To the Dead Man's knock!
Fly bolt, and bar, and band! —
Nor move, nor swerve, Joint, muscle, or nerve,
At the spell of the Dead Man's hand!
Sleep all who sleep! — Wake all who wake!
But be as the dead for the Dead Man's sake!
Here, in a different sense, was the spell of the Dead
Man's hand. It was almost as though Willenhall had
reached out from beyond the grave to bring his own
testimony as to his fate. These photographs, the last he
had ever taken and the results of which he was never to
see, might throw some light upon his doings up to the
very moment when disaster overtook him. Wendover
felt the thrill that comes from half-guessed mysteries,
and he could see that something of the same fascination
was over the jury as they handled these records made by
the dead.
"If you'll look at the first photograph — that is, Ex-
hibit A, No. 1 — you will find that it's a picture of a
stile, with a glade beyond," Severn began prosaically.
"No. 2 shows the lake in Mr. Wendover's grounds, taken
from the side nearest the village. No. 3 shows the lake
again, taken from the end. You can see Mr. Wendover's
boat-house if you look carefully. Then No. 4 is a bit of
wood-path. No. 5 shows the lake again, taken from the
far side and from a good distance .away up the slope.
No. 6 shows the Maiden's Well, with Mr. Thursford
standing beside the rock. These photographs show that
the deceased took the short cut on his way to Crow-
land's Corner. I've made inquiries, but I can't learn


124
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
that anyone met him on the way. As you know, that
track through the Silver Grove grounds is not much
used; and we happen to have been unlucky to the ex-
tent that no one happened to be on it that morning.
However, the photographs themselves tell the tale plain
enough, as I'll make clear in a moment or two."
Severn picked up a fresh strip of photographs.
"If you'll be good enough to turn to Exhibit B, you
will find the continuation of the story. The deceased
took out the old film, put it in his pocket, and inserted
this fresh roll. On Exhibit B, No. 1 exposure shows the
Maiden's Well again. No. 2 shows the Well from a dif-
ferent aspect, with Mr. Thursford sitting down just at
the brink of the pool. No. 3 is practically the same
picture. You can see that Mr. Thursford has changed
his position very slightly. Exposure No. 4 shows the Well
again, taken quite close up. That finishes the exposures
he made at the Well. The next one, No. 5 on the same
strip, shows Hell's Gape, a view taken from the edge of
the cliff, looking down into the chasm. Exposure No. 6
shows Hell's Gape again, taken from between two of
the spikes of rock on the south side. That finishes the
six exposures on that roll. He took that out of the
camera, put it in his pocket, and inserted a fresh film —
Exhibit C — which contains the last three photographs
he took."
Wendover, who could not see the details of the prints
which the jury were handling, was on tenterhooks to
hear Severn's description of this ultimate set of ex-
posures. Here, if anywhere, the truth would be found.
And from his own eagerness he discovered that in his
inmost mind he was still doubtful if Willenhall had
actually met with an accident. Some of the evidence
given that morning had made him prick up his ears; and


THE INQUEST 125
yet he could not say that he had any very definite sus-
picions. Simply, he felt, the thing might not be so ob-
vious as it looked at first sight.
"Exhibit C, No. 1," Severn continued, "shows the
mouth of Hell's Gape. Exposure No. 2 is the same, taken
from a slightly different viewpoint. Exposure No. 3 —
the last which he took — is a picture of the chasm taken
from the top of the cliff, as in No. 5 of Exhibit B, but
from a slightly different standpoint. Then comes the
blank exposure, No. 4, and the two photographs, 5 and 6,
taken by Sir Clinton Driffield.
"From these photographs taken by the deceased him-
self at Hell's Gape, it is simple enough to reconstruct his
movements round about the place. He came to it by a
route which landed him at the brink of the precipice.
There he took B.5. He then walked down the scarp and
past the mouth of Hell's Gape on to the south side,
where he seems to have clambered up the rocks until he
could look into the Gape through one of the gaps be-
tween the spikes of rock on that side. He took B.6 from
that position. Then he must have gone back to the mouth
of the Gape, changed his film for a new one, and then
taken C.l and C.2. He then climbed up the scarp to
the top of the cliff again, took C.3 from that point, and
settled down to begin his lunch. Something must have
drawn him to the cliff-edge after that; and evidently he
fell in."
Wendover was a little disappointed by this tame
ending. He had expected something rather more refined
from the Inspector. Anyone, he reflected, could have de-
veloped the negatives and produced this bald com-
mentary on them. The whole evidence left them almost
where they were before it was given.
The Inspector had not finished, however.


126
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"I have some further evidence which may not be of
much importance in the present case, but I think the
jury is entitled to hear it. Following up a hint given me
by Sir Clinton Driffield, I have been able to establish
fairly closely the actual time of the disaster. Saturday,
June 13th, the day of Mr. Willenhall's death, was bright
and sunny; and if you examine the prints which I have
put in evidence, you will see that all of them show
sharply-defined shadows at some point or other in the
pictures."
Wendover smiled covertly when he heard this. Evi-
dently the Inspector had turned up the Second Book of
Kings and discovered the meaning of the Dial of Ahaz.
"On June 13th," Severn continued, "the sun rose at
4.43 a. m. and set at 9.17 p. m. at Greenwich. The figures
in the almanac are exactly the same for the following
day, Sunday, June 14th. That's to say that a photo-
graph taken at 11 a. m on the 14th would show practi-
cally the same shadows as one taken at 11 a. m. on the
13th. It occurred to me that in this way it would be
possible to check the times at which these various photo-
graphs were taken and so confirm the evidence of wit-
nesses at the inquest — or even determine times when
there was no independent witness on the spot."
Wendover had to admit that Severn had got more out
of the Dial of Ahaz than he himself had. He hadn't
thought of this application of the shadow in the cleft to
which Sir Clinton had drawn their attention.
"June 14th turned out to be another bright, sunny
day, with sharp shadows, just like the day before,"
Severn pursued, with something of the air of an artist
displaying a masterpiece. "The important point was
obviously Hell's Gape, but as I had to walk up there in
any case it occurred to me that I might just as well follow


THE INQUEST 127
up the route taken by the deceased and check the times
at which each of the photographs was taken by him.
"I procured the actual camera belonging to the de-
ceased, as well as a supply of films. I took a constable
with me, and we started out rather earlier than the de-
ceased did, so as to arrive at the scene of his first photo-
graph in ample time. I had with me prints of the various
negatives taken by him. If you will look at Exhibit A,
No. 1, you will notice that the shadow of a tree just
touches the extreme end of the second step of the stile,
whilst another tree-shadow terminates in the middle of
the path up to the stile. I had no difficulty in identifying
the viewpoint from which the deceased took his photo-
graph. I stationed myself there, with his camera, waited
until the shadows fell into the exact position — so far
as I could judge — of the shadows in the photograph.
I noted the time and made an exposure, so as to have a
permanent record."
Severn dived again into his bag and produced a packet
of bromide prints. After asking the coroner's permission,
he distributed these to the members of the jury.
"These prints come from three separate rolls of film
with six exposures on each roll except the last, which has
five on it. They run parallel to Exhibits A, B, and C, so
I have lettered them Exhibits X, Y, and Z. Thus the
picture taken by the deceased on Exhibit B, No. 5 cor-
responds to the picture taken by myself and indicated
by Exhibit Y, No. 5."
He glanced from face to face among the jury to make
sure that they had followed this. Apparently satisfied
that he had made himself clear, he continued.
"I think, if you compare Exhibit A, 1, with Exhibit X,
1, you will be satisfied that for all practical purposes
they are the same picture, so far as the shadow-positions


128
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
are concerned. Since Exhibit X, 1, was taken at 9.59
a. m. on June 14th, it is safe to say that Exhibit A, 1,
was taken by the deceased within a minute or two of 10
a. m. on June 13th."
He paused to give the jury time to examine the details
of the two photographs. When they had satisfied them-
selves, he continued.
"As soon as this photograph had been taken, I hur-
ried on to the next site and repeated the process, making
an exposure when the shadows in the actual scene were
in the position shown in the photograph taken by the
deceased. By a comparison of Exhibit A.2 with Exhibit
X.2, you will see that the coincidence in detail between
the two prints is quite good. I do not wish to contend
that the times are exact to a second, but I think the
evidence is good enough within, say, five minutes. That
second photograph was taken at 10.05 a. m. I shall not
trouble you with the figures as I go along, but shall give
you them all together later.
"Exhibit X.3 shows the lake with the boat-house in
the distance, Exhibit X.4 is the wood-path picture, and
Exhibit X.5 shows the view of the lake in the distance. I
gauged the time in its case from the shadow on the
broken hummock on the right of the picture.
"The next series of pictures shows the Maiden's Well,
where there were plenty of shadows to work upon. Ex-
hibit X.6 corresponds to Exhibit A.6, and I made the
constable pose in the same position as Mr. Thursford in
the original photograph. The same was done in the
cases of Exhibits Y.2 and Y.3, which correspond to the
original pictures B.2 and B.3.
"I now come to the first picture of Hell's Gape, taken
from the top of the cliff — Exhibit X.5, which cor-
responds to the deceased's first picture B.5. The shadow


THE INQUEST 129
thrown by one of the rock-pinnacles across the floor of
the chasm was what I used as a gauge, and the time
could be fairly closely estimated on account of the
broken character of the floor of the Gape. It came out,
as near as I could make it, at 12.45 p. m., and I do not
think that estimate is more than a minute or two out,
at the most. The irregularities on the floor of the chasm
are as good as the degrees on a sundial — better, per-
haps.
"If you will pass now to Exhibits C.3 and Z.3, you
will find that they are practically identical. Here again
I used irregularities on the floor of the chasm as a gauge
in estimating time. Z.3 was taken at 1.45 p. m., so that
the deceased must have taken his last photograph within
a few minutes of a quarter to two on June 13th. It was
after that that the disaster happened. How long after
it, one cannot tell from the photographs, of course. It
may have been a minute or two, or it may have been
longer. At least, it was before 2.45 p. m., when Sir Clin-
ton Driffield and Mr. Wendover arrived at the Gape and
found the body."
Checkley interrupted suddenly.
"Before 2.20 p. m., you mean. That was when I found
the body."
Severn made an apologetic gesture.
"Of course. What I wish to make clear is that the
death occurred later than, say, half-past one, according
to the evidence of these photographs."
Checkley seemed satisfied with this. Wendover,
knowing the Inspector's craving for accuracy, wondered
whether the slip had been made deliberately with some
ulterior purpose. He concluded, however, that in all
probability it was a genuine lapse of memory on Severn's
part.


130
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"There was one final test which could be applied to
this method," Severn went on. "Sir Clinton Driffield
took two photographs of the body, which appear in the
series as Exhibits C.5 and C.6.1 had made a note at the
time when these photographs were taken. I found the
viewpoints without difficulty, avoided consulting my
watch so as to be quite unbiassed, and when the shadows
came near the proper position I got the constable to lie
down in approximately the same position as that oc-
cupied by the body when we found it. When the
shadows were exactly right, as far as I could judge it, I
made the two exposures, which correspond to C.S and
C.6 You will find them indicated by Z.5 and Z.6 in my
series. Exhibit C.5 was taken by Sir Clinton at 4.05 p. m.
Z.5 was taken by me at 4.09 p. m. as I found by looking
at my watch immediately after making the exposure.
That checks up the method as being accurate within
five minutes in this particular case; and although the
conditions here were specially favourable owing to the
irregularity of the ground surface, still I think the
method is vindicated within reasonable limits."
He picked up a sheet of paper before going further.
"This is the list of the times at which I estimate the
deceased took the various photographs which have been
put in in evidence.
A.l. Stile and Glade
9.59
a. M.
A.2. Lake (nearest side)
10.05
a. M.
A.3. Lake (with boat-house)
10.10
a. M.
A.4. Wood Path
10.25
a. M.
A.5. Lake (distant view)
10.30
a. M.
A.6. Well (Mr. Thursford standing)
11.18
a. M.
B.l. Well
11.22
a. M.
B.2. Well (Mr. Thursford sitting)
11.25
a. M.


THE INQUEST 131
B.3. Well (Mr. Thursford sitting)
11.25
a.
If.
B.4. Well (close view)
11.30
a.
M.
B.5. Hell's Gape (from top of cliff)
12.45
P.
M.
B.6. Hell's Gape (from pinnacle side)
1.00
P.
M.
C.l. Hell's Gape (mouth of chasm)
1.10
P.
M.
C.2. Hell's Gape (mouth of chasm)
1.15
P.
M.
C.3. Hell's Gape (from top of cliff)
1.45
P.
M.
C.4. Blank film
C.S. Body (taken by Sir C. Driffield)
4.05
P.
M.
C.6. Body (taken by Sir C. Driffield)
4.05
P.
M.
I don't claim more than approximate accuracy for these
times, but I've made a rough calculation to show how
near the true time one might come if circumstances were
favourable.
"Suppose you have a tree that throws a shadow 30
feet long. The tip of the shadow is describing a circle
with a circumference of 180 feet. (I'm not taking into
consideration the variation produced by the rise and
fall of the sun in its path across the sky; all I want to
give is a very rough result.) Theoretically, the shadow
of the tree-top would travel 180 feet in 24 hours. That's
90 feet in 12 hours, or 90 inches an hour — say an
inch-and-a-half per minute. A four-minute difference
between two photographs would be represented by a
shift of the shadow through six inches on the ground.
That's quite appreciable in these photographs. With
even a fifteen-foot shadow the measurement can be
made without much error; and at this time of year,
round about noon, a twenty-five foot tree will throw a
fifteen-foot shadow. Most of the trees I used as gauges
are much higher than that."
The coroner consulted his notes.
"The times you estimate for the snapshots taken at


132 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
the Maiden's Well concord very fairly indeed with the
times Mr. Thursford gave in his evidence," he pointed
out. "According to him, he and the deceased reached
the Well at about 11.15 a. m. and left it again about
half-past eleven, whilst your estimates place the photo-
graphs as being taken at the Well between 11.18 a. m.
and 11.25 a. m. That's a very striking agreement, when
the difficulties are taken into account. And on that basis,
it seems established beyond doubt that the deceased
did not die before half-past twelve at the earliest. It
may not be a matter of much practical importance, but
the jury will be glad to have had the information. It's
always well to feel that every available piece of evidence
has been elicited."
"There's just one further point which can be inferred
from these photographs," Severn went on, when the
coroner paused. "When I traced out the route which
the deceased must have followed in order to take the
series of snapshots A.l to A.5, it became quite clear how
he had managed to put in a whole hour on the short-cut
which he could have covered in less than half an hour if
he had pushed straight ahead. The sequence of the
pictures showed that he had wandered about a good
deal over the ground and hadn't kept to the path."
The coroner evidently knew that Severn had now
reached the end of his evidence, for he allowed him to
stand down without further questions. Wendover, glanc-
ing round, saw Harry Thursford engaged in a whispered
conversation with Halstead, evidently on the subject
of the Inspector's testimony, since they were both in-
tent on the bar of shadow cast across the floor by an up-
right in the window.
"Damned ingenious," Wendover heard Harry com-
ment in undisguised admiration.


THE INQUEST 135
Evidently he also disliked Checkley's crude reflec-
tions.
"That let's me out," he said, acidly. "I won't need to
buy a fresh dozen of handkerchiefs for your funeral,
Checkley. The present stock will see me through the
business when it comes."
Over Wendover's shoulder he caught a glimpse of
Severn leaving the building, and his face lighted up with
interest.
"I say, Inspector," he hailed.
Severn, bag in hand, came up to the group.
"That was deuced cute work of yours," Harry Thurs-
ford went on. "I'd like to offer my congratulations on
it. I never thought one could get so much out of a pack
of snapshots. Amazingly neat, it was, I thought. Until
you worked it out, I never realised how quick a shadow
creeps along; and yet, of course, what you said was
O.K."
"It wasn't altogether my own notion," Severn con-
fessed. "It was a word or two from the Chief Constable
that put me on the track, really. Of course, once one got
the hint, there wasn't much in it except following the
thing up."
"I'd like to get to know him," Harry angled ingenu-
ously with a side-glance at Wendover. "He must have a
lot of yarns worth hearing, I should think, if one could
get him started. The Maze case was before my time,
and I'd like to hear the ins and outs of it."
"Mr. Wendover could tell you about that," the In-
spector pointed out. Then, with a sudden change of
subject, he turned to Wendover.
"You haven't parted with a share in your share of the
ticket, by any chance?"
Wendover shook his head.


136
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"Not I. Mr. Checkley wanted something of the sort
but I refused."
Severn swung round to Checkley.
"I'm rather curious on the point, Mr. Checkley. It's
this matter of these threatening letters that I've got to
look into. One has to hunt about for all sorts of trifles,"
he added, half-apologetically, "just to see if one can
make anything fit in."
Checkley glanced at Wendover and laughed rather
nervously.
"I don't mind telling you, though the joke's against
me now," he admitted. "I parted with a quarter-share in
my share before the race was run. They gave me £2,000
for it. When Barralong came in second, their quarter-
share was worth £6,500. Now, with two of the Syndi-
cate gone, it's worth £8,600. However, even as things
are, I rake in £27,875 as against the original ninth share
of £26,880. But I wish I'd taken your advice" — again
he glanced at Wendover — "and not hedged the bet.
You've done better out of it than I have."
Quite obviously he was vexed by the knowledge that
Wendover had made a bigger profit on the same
chances.
"Whom did you sell the share to?" Severn inquired
casually.
"Ask another," Checkley replied with a shrug. "They
made a lot of talk about secrecy, hush-hush business,
and so forth. I got the idea that it was a firm of bookies
doing a bit of reinsurance for themselves. Naturally
they wouldn't want that to leak out; it might have
spoiled their game a bit. All I know is that I met a Com-
missionaire at an hotel in London; he fished out an
envelope with £2,000 in notes in it; and when I'd passed
them over a bank counter and seen they weren't flash


THE INQUEST 137
stuff, I signed a typed agreement to hand over the cash
to bearer when the prize-money's divided. Two of the
bank clerks witnessed my signature. The cash was all
right. That was the main thing from my point of view.
It might have been some new brand of the confidence
trick, you see. They can collect their share when the
money comes in, unless they forget about it, which
isn't likely."
Severn seemed interested in this curious transaction.
"Would you know the Commissionaire again?"
"I doubt if I'd recognise him. I had to keep my eye
hard on the cash."
The Inspector seemed still slightly inquisitive.
"And you haven't a notion who the principal was?"
"Not the foggiest," Checkley protested. "What did
it matter to me? The cash was all right."
Suddenly an idea seemed to flash into his mind and
he blurted it out unconsciously.
"It might have been one of the Syndicate, for all I
know."
"It wasn't I," said Wendover, freezingly.
Harry Thursford apparently read a danger-signal in
Wendover's eye; and to avoid open unpleasantness he
good-naturedly threw himself into the breach on the
spur of the moment.
"Tommie RedhilPs in the cart as well as you, Check-
ley. Worse, in fact. He sold a third of his share for
£2,100 first of all. Then, by-and-by, he heard some
rumours about Barralong that put him in a panic, so he
sold another third of his share for £1,500, and then an-
other half of what he'd got left for £800."
Checkley's mental arithmetic was almost instantane-
ous.
"That means he gets under £10,000 out of it —


138
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
£9,810 exactly," he reckoned, with hardly-suppressed
maliciousness.
"Is that all? Hard lines," Harry Thursford said in a
tone of regret. "Anyhow, what I was going to say was
that his gang played the same hush-hush game. He
doesn't know who they are until they choose to come
down on him for the cash. If I were in Tommie's shoes,
I'd be inclined to collect the spondulicks and then hop
it for Patagonia or the Isles of Javan and Godire —
somewhere outside extradition limits, anyhow."
The Inspector smiled rather sourly at this suggestion.
"It's none so easy to get beyond the reach of an ex-
tradition warrant nowadays," he declared. "And gener-
ally we manage to get our oar in at an earlier stage."
"Passports are a rank nuisance, nowadays," Harry
commented, in an aggrieved tone.
Severn returned to the original subject.
"I suppose you don't know of any other member of
your Syndicate who's sold part of his share?" he in-
quired of the company generally.
"Falgate may have. He's hard up," said Checkley,
crudely.
"So they say," the Inspector admitted, cautiously.
"You don't know whether Mr. Coniston's been doing a
deal, too? Or your uncle?" he added, turning to Harry
Thursford.
"Neither of 'em have, so far as I know. You'd better
ask 'em to be sure, though."
"I suppose so," Severn agreed without any apparent
eagerness.


CHAPTER IX: THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
Inspector Severn, returning home after midnight
from a visit to a friend half-way across the country,
listened to the steady thrum of his motorcycle, which
gave him the illusion of companionship. It was a dark
night, for the new moon was due in a couple of days;
but he knew every turn of the road and was more en-
grossed with his own thoughts than with the outer world.
He gazed down the bright alley of his headlight beam
and gave himself up to reflections which of late had be-
come almost habitual in his unoccupied moments.
Severn took humanity as he found it. Unfortunately
for humanity, the Inspector's professional work
brought him more into contact with the seamy side of
society than with the better part; and as a result, he
was rather inclined to look critically at certain things
which other people accepted at face value.
All the evidence in his possession, he had supplied to
the coroner's jury. In this particular case, he could see
no reason for keeping anything up his sleeve; and, so
far as the evidence went, he was quite prepared to admit
that the verdict of Accidental Death was a sound one.
On the facts before them — and it was on these facts
alone that they were sworn to give their decision — they
could hardly have reached any other conclusion. If he
had been on the jury himself he would have taken the
same course. The affair at Hell's Gape was just the sort
of thing which is bound to occur, sooner or later, if a
dangerous place is left completely unfenced.


140
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
And yet, the Inspector reflected more than once, Sir
Clinton was right when he pointed out that a lot of
money would change its destination because Willenhall
had died up there at the Gape; and when money could
change hands in that way, there was always an incentive
to help it on the road. The more Severn thought over
the affair, the less he liked the look of it; and yet he
frankly admitted to himself that he had no real grounds
for suspicion. Accidents do happen. The air-liner
tragedy was an obvious accident, unconnected in any
way with the operations of the Novem Syndicate. The
disaster at Hell's Gape had been examined by unbiassed
people with all the evidence before them, and they had
pronounced it to be accidental. If the Syndicate had
never existed, no one would dream of suspecting a crime
in the Willenhall case, any more than they would attrib-
ute the air-liner crash to criminal manoeuvres.
Yes, true enough. But taking humanity as Inspector
Severn found it, one couldn't drop the Syndicate out of
the picture completely. The Syndicate stood for money,
money in such sums that it could not be ignored. And
there was no use burking the fact that murder had been
done in the past for very much less money than this.
Severn disliked uncertainty, even in small things; he
was prepared to take endless trouble in clearing up
doubtful points. And here, he felt, the whole thing was
doubtful. On the face of it, Willenhall's death was ac-
cidental. Against that, he had only this undefined mis-
giving that things weren't quite what they appeared to
be on the surface. Quite obviously, there was no data
to go on. The whole thing might be a mare's nest.
Still . . .
Whenever he resolved to drop the affair, another
factor surged up from the back of his mind and altered


THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
141
his decision. The Chief Constable, in rather cryptic
language, had hinted that Severn should satisfy himself
that the affair had really been above board; and by do-
ing so, Sir Clinton had betrayed that he himself was
not altogether easy in his mind on the subject. Quite
apart from official credit, Severn had a strong desire to
gain his Chief's approval. It was a personal and not an
official affair, the hankering of a minor artist to gain the
recognition of a connoisseur whose opinion was of real
weight. If he could make head or tail of this affair, prove
it to be crime or accident beyond all doubt, he knew that
he was sure of something which he reckoned higher than
official promotion.
Severn was nearing home when he was roused from
his reverie by an incipient side-slip. Since he came over
this by-road on his outward journey earlier in the eve-
ning, a heavy local thunder shower had fallen, and now
the road was greasy. Roused to a more conscious notice
of things about him, Severn slowed down slightly and
drove with caution.
It was well for him that he did so. As he slid round a
corner — the first on an S-bend — he came upon a scene
which caused him to jam on his brakes regardless of the
risk of side-slip. His cycle slid on the treacherous sur-
face and it was only by luck that he saved himself from
coming down. As soon as he was on his feet, he swung
his cycle round to bring the headlight to bear, hitched
the machine on to its stand, and ran forward to where
the hedge had been ripped away and the wheel of an
overturned car showed beyond the gap.
The big saloon*, travelling at high speed, had mounted
the bank, torn through the hedge, and lurched into the
field beyond, turning topsy-turvy as it fell. Pulling out
his pocket-torch, Severn got through the gap in a mo-


142
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
ment and bent over the wreck. No sound came from the
car. As he went round to the front, the Inspector saw
the driver's body half-through the wind-screen, where
he had been thrown by the shock. The shattered glass
had inflicted terrible wounds on the face and neck, but
by the light of his torch Severn recognised Jack Conis-
ton. To judge by the quantity of effused blood, a carotid
artery or jugular vein had been injured. It needed no
expert eye to estimate the seriousness of the injuries;
and when Severn, with some difficulty, had succeeded in
reaching the body, he found that he was too late to help.
The Novem Syndicate had lost another member.
There might have been passengers in the back of the
car. The Inspector went round to the window and
flashed his torch into the interior. With a sigh of relief
he discovered that Coniston had been alone. Only some
rugs lay in the back of the car, and these Severn se-
cured, in order to cover Coniston's body. As he reached
for them, a peculiar tang in the atmosphere of the car
caught his nostrils. A smell of burning? Then he'd have
to get the body out as best he could, before the whole
thing went ablaze.
But there seemed to be no sign of combustion, when
he came to look closer; nor was the odour at all like
that of burning oil or of petrol. It had a peculiar catchy
quality which both these fumes lacked. It was familiar,
and yet uncommon: the sort ot smell one doesn't meet
with every day. . . .
"Fireworks!" Severn ejaculated suddenly, as he
identified it at last. "Gunpowder!"
A suspicion shot through his mind, only to be dis-
carded instanter.
"Suicide? Not with Coniston. There's no reason for
it."


THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
143
He pulled out the rugs, covered the body, and then,
walking over to the bank, sat down to think.
If it were a case of suicide, it could be established
easily enough. The wound would be on the body, and the
pistol was bound to turn up, either in the car or by the
roadside. He could afford to let that business stand over
for the present.
Accident? Coniston was notoriously a fast driver,
and the road at this point was treacherous. Severn had
his own recent experience to tell him how easily a side-
slip might happen at that very spot. And on an S-bend
at high speed, a car might easily get out of control on a
greasy surface. Accident was possible. But then ac-
cident wouldn't serve to account for gunpowder fumes
inside the car.
Severn tried to persuade himself that he was reason-
ing the affair out logically; but all the while he knew
quite well that his conclusion had leaped ahead of his
ratiocination.
Murder!
He had seen one of these "accidents" before and had
been left in doubt over it. This time, he would make
certain.
He rose to his feet and went across to the car to ex-
amine the windows round the driver's seat. Evidently
they had been up at the time of the crash, but the glass
was so shattered that he was unable to make much out
of his search. If a shot had been fired into the car, the
subsequent impact had destroyed any obvious traces of
the bullet-hole. By piecing the stuff together later on
they might be able to prove something; but in the dark
it was not worth attempting.
Struck by a fresh idea, the Inspector climbed over
the bank again and descended into the road. Suppose


144
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
that someone had held up the car and shot Coniston
through the open door, then re-started the car and let
it rush to destruction.
A careful scrutiny of the wheel-tracks convinced him
that this solution would not fit. For fifty yards before
the disaster-point, the tracks of the tyres ran steadily
almost as if drawn by an artist. There had been no
nerveless hand at the wheel when they were made. Nor
was there the faintest sign that the car had been stopped
and re-started with the slightest slip of the driving
wheels on the greasy surface. Coming to the spot where
the side-slip had occurred, Severn could see at a glance
that the car had been at full speed when it reached that
point. The length of the side-slip track and its slow
sag towards the ditch were sufficient to show that the
car had travelled a long way forward in the time that
it took for the wheel to slide sideways. Besides, the
ripping away of the stout hedge for twice the length of
the car was evidence enough in itself that the speed had
been high. Always thorough, however, Severn returned
to the car and satisfied himself that the gear-lever was
in top. When he put the whole of the data together, it
seemed plain enough that there had been no hold-up.
The car had come along the road at full speed up to the
tioment of the side-slip.
If Coniston had been shot, then, it must have been
done while his motor was at high speed. Even a crack
shot would find a feat of that sort difficult, if not impos-
sible except by chance.
And if he had been killed in this way, how came there
to be fumes of gunpowder actually inside the car?
And if the shot had been fired by someone in the car
with Coniston, how did the assassin manage to escape


THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
145
from a car travelling at full speed and on the verge of
instant disaster?
"I'm damned if I see through it," the Inspector ex-
claimed aloud in his annoyance at being so completely
baffled.
He had no intention of leaving the spot until assist-
ance of some sort arrived. For all he knew, some crucial
clue might be amongst the debris; and it would never do
to leave the wreck to be pawed over by the first pas-
serby. A police patrol would pass the place in an hour
or so, he knew; and he resigned himself to wait for
that, if nothing turned up earlier. In the meanwhile, he
dipped his handkerchief in Coniston's blood, hung it
over his cycle lamp, and so improvised a danger signal.
He wheeled his motorcycle about a hundred yards up
the road and propped it on its stand, facing oncoming
traffic; then, returning, he posted himself at the corner
where he had side-slipped, so as to be in readiness to
hold up traffic on that side. Satisfied that he had thus
guarded the tracks of Coniston's car from obliteration
by motors which might arrive, he sat down to wait.
Assistance came long before he had expected it. He
had hardly settled down to watch when the lights of a
car appeared; and at the sight of the red light the driver
apparently slowed down and crawled cautiously along,
while the Inspector hastened to meet him.
Dazzled by the headlights, Severn could not at first
recognise the motorist, but a familiar voice hailed him
as he walked up to the car. Tommie Redhill's cool ac-
cents were easily recognisable.
"Hullo! What's this?" he demanded. "Has there been
a smash?"
"Mr. Coniston's car's gone off the road."


146
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"I thought so," Tommie Redhill commented, unex-
pectedly. "Is he hurt?"
"Killed."
"Poor devil! I was afraid something had happened."
Severn, completely at sea with this, did not know
what to think.
"What made you think that?" he asked brusquely.
"Silly thing to go driving full tilt at night on roads
like this. I didn't like it; and when he didn't get home
on time, I thought I'd come along and make sure he
hadn't come to any harm."
This sounded like Double-Dutch to the Inspector.
Coniston had been driving homeward when the dis-
aster occurred; Redhill had followed him up; and yet
Redhill professed to know that Coniston hadn't reached
home. Then a possible explanation crossed his mind.
"Were you ringing him up?"
Tommie Redhill evidently shook his head, then put
the thing into words.
"No, it was simpler than that. We had a bet on."
The Inspector saw that evidently the explanation
might be complex, and he decided to postpone it to a
more convenient moment.
"Look here," he explained. "The first thing to do is to
get assistance. Will you turn round and drive back for
a sergeant and a couple of constables? The sergeant
lives at 7 Milton Lane. If you knock him up, he'll rout
out the constables. They've all got push-bikes and can
get up here themselves. Or, if it's no trouble to you,
would you mind bringing them up in your car, and then
you can tell me what all this is about. I can't make
head or tail of what you're saying," he concluded ir-
ritably.
"Very well. I'll see to it," Tommie Redhill acquiesced


THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
147
at once. "But about poor Jack? Hadn't we better see if
we can't do something for him, before we start off?"
"There's nothing you can do for him," Severn re-
torted grimly.
"Quite dead, you mean? Killed at once, was he? Good
Lord! what a business!"
"I shouldn't want to see him, if I were you," the In-
spector said in a significant tone. "It's been a very ugly
smash."
"Poor Jack! I suppose the glass . . . He'd have done
better to use triplex stuff, but he always had some
prejudice against it. I suppose he never believed he'd
be in a smash. Few of us do, at the back of our minds.
How did it happen?"
"I'll tell you about it when you get back," Severn
promised hastily. "The first thing's to get assistance. I
can't leave the wreck till someone relieves me."
"Why not? If he's dead? ... Oh, I see. All right,
I'll be back again as quick as I can. Mind standing
clear while I reverse?"
He turned his car, and without more ado set off down
the road by which he had come.
"That's a mighty cool card," the Inspector reflected
as he watched the red tail-lamp vanish into the night.
"Most people would have been thrown out of gear a
good deal by news like that."
But after all, when he thought it over, Redhill's be-
haviour was much what one might have expected from
him. He was well-known for his coolness. Once there
had been an alarm of fire in his little enamel factory,
and Redhill, a cigarette between his lips, had shepherded
his workgirls out of danger with such convincing calm
that a nasty panic had been avoided by the sheer force
of his personality. He had even gone back into the


148
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
blazing building to make sure that no one had been
overlooked. A man who was prepared to take big risks
like that was obviously not the kind of person to be
rattled even by the news of a ghastly accident. And, ap-
parently, when he came upon the scene he was already
prepared for some mishap.
Severn's training had taught him never to grow im-
patient when gathering information; and now, know-
ing that he would get Redhill's story very shortly, he
refused to worry himself about its nature. He took up
his post again and waited stoically for the arrival of
his reinforcements.
Redhill was rather longer than the Inspector had
bargained for; but by this time it was late, and no cars
arrived to cause trouble. Severn was not a nervy person,
and this vigil beside Coniston's corpse did not disturb
him. He lit his pipe and passed the time by reviewing
the data which he had collected during his hasty in-
spection of the wreckage; but any probable solution of
the affair failed to present itself to his mind. That whiff
of gunpowder fumes refused to allow itself to be fitted
into any plausible theory.
At last the lights of Redhill's car appeared; and
Severn hastened forward to give orders to his subordi-
nates. Until dawn, he decided, traffic had better be di-
verted from that section of the road. Once they had light
enough, the wheel-tracks could be measured; and after
that a guard over the wrecked car would suffice to keep
things undisturbed. When he had issued his instructions
and seen his men in their allotted positions, he returned
to Tommie Redhill's car. ,
"Jump in, Inspector," Tommie suggested, opening
the door at his side. "It's as cheap sitting as standing,
if you want to ask any questions."


150
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
In coming up, I got a bit anxious and began imagining
that something had happened to him; so it wasn't alto-
gether a surprise when I dropped on you here and
learned that there had been a smash. It was a risky
thing to try, with the roads like this; but Jack was very
confident of his driving, always. Poor beggar! He was
such a good sort, too. Always so cheery."
"There was no one in the car with him?" the Inspec-
tor demanded, cutting short Tommie Redhill's tribute.
"No, of course not. He was going home."
"Had you been drinking?" Severn asked, bluntly.
"Nothing to speak of, unless you'd call a couple of
two-finger nips, drinking. That's all I had myself."
"Who else was there tonight besides yourself?"
"Coniston, myself, Miss Hathern, Miss Langdale,
Miss Ridgeway, Miss Thursford, of course, and her
brother, and Checkley. That's eight, isn't it? We had
two tables of bridge to start with. Old Peter Thursford
wasn't there. Out at a Masonic dinner, or something, I
gathered."
The Inspector paused for a while before putting any
further questions, as though he were turning things
over in his mind. Then he fastened upon a phrase which
Redhill had used.
"You played bridge 'to start with.' What did you do
after that?"
"A couple of rubbers happened to finish together at
the two tables. Nobody wanted to start afresh, and there
was some talk, just general conversation of no particu-
lar interest. By and by Checkley got his oar in and
wanted to try some experiments: deal out a set of cards
on the table; one person fixes his mind on a particular
card; another person draws a card. Checkley wanted
to make out that by telepathy or something the proper


THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
151
card was drawn oftener than probability allowed. At
first he got quite good results, and it looked interesting;
but after a bit his average fell off badly and there seemed
to be nothing in it."
"Then you turned to something else?"
"Yes. Checkley started on hypnotism. He's a trifle
mad on that subject. He offered to have a shot at hypno-
tising somebody. Miss Langdale volunteered to let him
try with her; but Harry Thursford objected, so that
dropped. I let him try to hypnotise me with the help of
a silver spoon, but it was a complete wash-out. Then
Jack Coniston offered; and it seemed to come off with
him. Checkley got him to crow like a cock and put his
jacket on outside-in and burn himself with a cold
poker. But poor Jack was a bit of a humourist always,
and not a bad actor; and I had a suspicion that he was
pulling Checkley's leg by pretending to be hypnotised,
simply. Checkley was quite serious about it, though."
Hypnotism was a subject which the Inspector had
never studied. He had always felt a certain scepticism
about the whole thing, a feeling which had disinclined
him from troubling to learn anything about it. One
heard stories, of course; and he had a vague recollec-
tion that in some rather ugly foreign cases hypnotic
phenomena had been alleged to lie behind crimes. But
he had never seen a case of actual hypnotic trance, and
to his practical mind "seeing was believing." When a
thing was so out-of-the-way as all that, one would want
to see it with one's own eyes before one swallowed it.
And yet, despite this subconscious prejudice, Tom-
mie RedhilFs half-contemptuous narrative roused ideas
in the Inspector's mind. Suppose you could hypnotise a
man and get him under your control, how far would
your influence go? Could you make him do something


152
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
which, in his normal state, he would refuse to do? Could
you make him lose control of his car? Or could you
make him step over a cliff? Had you to be present when
he did the things you ordered him to do? Or could you
give him his instructions for some hour further on in the
day? In fact, could you contrive a crime which would
look exactly like accident or suicide and yet be per-
fectly safe from suspicion because you were not on the
spot at the actual moment when your victim went to his
death? There was the case of Smith, the Brides-in-the-
Bath murderer. Severn remembered a theory — which
he had dismissed at the time as sensational rubbish —
to the effect that Smith hypnotised his victims and sug-
gested that they should drown themselves while in
their baths. Could there be anything in the stuff after
all?
"What happened after that?" he asked Redhill.
"Oh, nothing much. It was getting late and we began
to think of making a move. Outside, where the cars were
standing, there was some talk about the hill-climb. Poor
Coniston was very full of his car, and Harry Thursford
had been at the hill-climb and backed him up. Coniston,
— I don't quite remember how it started — but Conis-
ton said he could get home in record time with the car
tuned up as it was. Checkley offered to bet that he
couldn't do it in seven minutes, and when Coniston
took that, Checkley tried to hedge by making a second
bet on six minutes. Harry Thursford made a side-bet
with Checkley on the six-minute run. Then Coniston
started off, after Harry Thursford had gone into the
house and brought out an opera-glass and a pair of race-
glasses for us to watch for the light in Coniston's porch.
I hadn't any bet, so I was acting as referee. That was
really all that happened, so far as I can remember."


THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
153
He paused, as though trying to recall anything fur-
ther; but found nothing to add.
"How did you come to find out about U?" he asked.
Severn gave him a very brief account of his own en-
try on the scene.
"Are all these people still waiting at Thursfords'?" he
inquired when he had finished. "I shall probably have to
see them and get their evidence. The coroner will want
that."
"No, most of them will be gone by this time. Nobody
was anxious to have the girls there when old man Thurs-
ford got home from his Masonic dinner, probably well
lit up. He's a bit . . . awkward, on these occasions.
Miss Langdale went off in her own car while we were
arguing about the bets. Checkley started just before I
did; and he took Miss Ridgeway with him. She lives
in the same direction. I promised to go back and pick
up Miss Hathern, after I'd seen that poor Coniston
was all right; but probably Harry Thursford will have
run her home by now."
The Inspector considered for a moment or two.
"You'd better get off home now, Mr. Redhill," he
suggested. "I'm going to take my motorcycle and go
round by Mr. Thursford's house. If they've gone to
bed, there's no harm done. If not, I can get what I
want while their memories are clear, and avoid hav-
ing to rake this nasty business up afresh again to-
morrow."
"Oh, very well," Tommie Redhill acquiesced. "Sure
you don't need me for anything? It's no trouble to go
along with you. No? Very well, I'll push off, then."
When Severn reached the Thursfords' house, he
found one of the ground-floor windows still lit up; and
in answer to his ring, Enid Thursford came to the front


154
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
door. Evidently all the maids had gone to bed earlier in
the evening.
"I'm Inspector Severn, Miss Thursford," the In-
spector said by way of introduction, as he was not sure
if she knew him. "Is your brother in? I'd like to see
him for a moment."
Enid Thursford had evidently recognised him, for
she opened the door wider and invited him to come in.
"My brother will be back in a few minutes, I expect.
Won't you come in and wait for him?"
She led him into a room; and the Inspector's ap-
parently incurious glance took in the two bridge-tables,
littered with cards and markers, the tray with de-
canters and soda, the cigarette smoke, and the general
disarrangement of the furniture. Enid, evidently rather
puzzled to know on what footing she ought to meet
this unexpected visitor, picked up a cigarette-box and
proffered it to him.
"Care to smoke while you wait for my brother, Mr.
Severn?"
The Inspector, however, declined with regret. Abdul-
lahs did not often come in his way; but business was
business and he did not care to smoke when paying an
official domiciliary visit.
"I've really come on rather a serious matter," he
admitted, as he made a gesture of refusal. "I'm sorry
to say that Mr. Coniston's got mixed up in a smash,
a rather bad smash."
Enid was obviously taken aback by the news.
"Oh, I hope he isn't hurt — not badly," she ex-
claimed. "I thought they were taking a risk with that
bet."
Severn had got his cue now, and he meant to get as
much information from the girl as he could, before


THE MOTOR TRAGEDY
155
her brother arrived. Independent evidence was worth
more than what one got by questioning two people in
presence of each other.
"I'm afraid Mr. Coniston's rather badly hurt," he
confessed. "He had a side-slip and went off the road.
You say he had a bet on? That would account for it.
I couldn't make out why he was driving so fast on a
slippery road."
"Is he very badly hurt?" Enid returned to the point
which Severn especially wanted to avoid.
"He's being looked after. I really don't know the
extent of the damage," the Inspector assured her, cor-
rectly if disingenuously.
He turned and stared pointedly at the decanters.
Enid followed his eyes and saw the veiled sugges-
tion.
"Oh, you think that?" she said, rather sharply.
"You're quite wrong. I happened to notice that Mr.
Coniston didn't drink much. He never does. He had
one glass of whiskey and soda which was mostly soda,
for I saw him pour it out. The second time, Mr. Check-
ley happened to be filling his own glass over yonder,
and Mr. Coniston passed him his tumbler to get it
filled too. When he got it back, he said to Mr. Check-
ley: 'You've made this a bit stiff,' and he didn't seem
to like it. He was perfectly sober, if that's what you
want. If he's had an accident, it wasn't on that ac-
count."
Severn nodded to indicate that he accepted her state-
ment without reservation.
"Could you tell me exactly what happened before he
started?" he asked, partly with the idea of testing her
memory.
"They made this silly bet, that it would take Mr.


156
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Coniston seven minutes to get home. Mr. Checkley bet
him that he couldn't; and when Mr. Coniston took it,
Mr. Checkley made another bet that he couldn't do it
in six minutes; and Mr. Coniston took him again.
Somebody else — my brother, I think — made a bet
with Mr. Checkley also."
"Can you remember what the sums were?"
"Oh, five shillings, I think."
"And as soon as the bets were made, Mr. Coniston
drove off?"
"No. Somebody asked for a cigarette and Mr. Con-
iston pulled out his case, I remember. Or perhaps some-
one asked him for one. I forget. Anyhow, he pulled
out his case and one or two of us helped ourselves
from it. I took a cigarette from it as it passed round.
I remember when he got it back again he said we were
a lot of wolves because we'd only left him one for him-
self. I'm telling you that just to show you I do re-
member things fairly well, so that when I say Mr.
Coniston had only those two drinks, you'll be prepared
to believe it. I don't want you to get the least idea that
he wasn't thoroughly fit to drive."
"I quite understand that," the Inspector interposed
hastily.
"Well, then, that was all that happened. We lit our
cigarettes, Mr. Coniston offered me a light and then
lit his own. And then Mr. Redhill gave him the word
to start. I want you to be quite clear that there was no
stirrup-cup business or anything of that sort."
The Inspector was faintly perplexed by this insist-
ence on the drink question. Then he remembered old
Peter Thursford's habits and thought he saw light.
Naturally, with an example of that sort before her
every day, Enid Thursford would be apt to lay stress


CHAPTER X: THE STICK
The day after Coniston's death was a busy one for
Inspector Severn. As soon as it was light enough to
make investigation possible, he reached the scene of
the disaster and began his examination of the ground,
the body, and the car.
In the daylight, the wheel-tracks were easier to
examine; and on the greasy road it was possible to
follow the trail of the car for a considerable distance
back from the point where the side-slip had begun.
But the most careful search failed to reveal any sign
that the motor had been stopped and re-started. It
seemed beyond doubt that the car had been travelling
at high speed at the previous corner in the road; and
after that it had gone on without a check to the place
where the smash had occurred.
Turning next to Coniston's body, the Inspector made
a most careful search for a bullet-wound, but without
success. Nor did the later examination by the police
surgeon reveal anything except the cuts produced by
the broken glass of the wind-screen. A suspicion of
Severn's led to the chemical investigation of the
stomach contents by an expert; but here again a blank
was drawn. No traces of any drug could be found.
Under the Inspector's eye, the interior of the car was
searched with the utmost care. A half-smoked cigarette
with a cork tip was the only find. The Inspector had
no difficulty in identifying it as the stub of an Ardath
cigarette, which was the brand Coniston had always


THE STICK
161
The Inspector gained no further enlightenment from
questioning the remaining members of the bridge-
party. Viola Langdale confirmed Redhill's story about
the hypnotic experiments; but she gave Severn the
impression that Coniston had been pulling Checkley's
leg and had not really been hypnotised at all. She was
quite positive that Checkley could not have suggested
anything to Coniston without being overheard by those
who were standing round while the thing was done.
The Inspector had been careful not to hint that the
hypnotic experiment had any connection with the
tragedy. He had succeeded in getting his information
mainly by appearing as though he wished to test the
preciseness of her recollections on a minor point.
Viola could give no details about the final incidents
of the evening. She had driven off in her own car at
the moment when Coniston's success in the hill-climb
had come into the conversation and had not even heard
of the betting until after the disaster. As to Coniston's
condition, she was emphatic that he had not been under
the influence of drink, even in the slightest degree.
Diana Hathern's evidence carried the matter fur-
ther than Viola's, for she had been present when Conis-
ton started. She was in doubt as to whether Coniston
had been really hypnotised or not. If not, then his act-
ing had been extraordinarily good, she thought. She,
also, had heard everything that Checkley had said,
and her account of the affair left no room for foul play
at that point, apparently. Her description of the betting
incident tallied closely with those which Severn had
obtained elsewhere. Checkley had made three bets,
two with Coniston and one with Harry Thursford.
While the talk about these transactions had been going
on, Harry Thursford had asked Coniston for a ciga-


162
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
rette and, with a joke, had passed the case round the
group. She had taken a cigarette from it and passed
it to Enid Thursford, who had also helped herself to
one. Mavis Ridgeway, she thought, had refused the
offer, and then Harry Thursford had taken one and
passed back the case to Coniston, who had grumbled
at the greediness of the company and had lit the re-
maining cigarette himself. The cigarettes were cork-
tipped, and before taking one she had asked what
brand they were. Coniston had told her they were Ar-
daths. She was positive that Coniston was perfectly
sober when he started.
Mavis Ridgeway confirmed most of this, but had
nothing further to tell.
The Inspector did not question Checkley about the
hypnotic affair, but so far as the later stages were con-
cerned Checkley confirmed what had already come to
light. He remembered Viola driving off before the
bets were discussed, and he recalled that he passed
Coniston's cigarette case to someone — he thought it
was Miss Ridgeway. He was smoking at the time and
did not take a cigarette out of the case himself. So far
as he knew, Coniston was perfectly sober when he
started. As to the drink he had poured out for Coniston,
it was just the same as his own — three fingers, perhaps,
at the outside. Nothing out of the way, certainly. Conis-
ton had complained that it was too stiff; but Coniston
was very abstemious.
This evidence left Severn very much where he had
been before. He decided that when he appeared at the
inquest he would be very circumspect. It was reasonable
to keep something up his sleeve, in case the affair should
turn out eventually to be foul play; and when he came
to testify, he said simply that he thought he had noticed


THE STICK
163
a faint smell of burning, but on examination had found
no fire in the car. That gave the coroner's jury the facts,
and it was for them to make what they could out of
them, in his view.
As he expected, the verdict was one of Accidental
Death.
Unfortunately for the Inspector's peace of mind, it
was a verdict in which he disbelieved completely. And
yet, so far as he could see, there was no way of getting
behind it. Barring that whiff of sulphurous fumes, there
was not one scrap of evidence, except facts which
pointed to pure mishap.
He had to confess in his own mind that if Coniston
had not been a member of the Syndicate, no tittle of
suspicion would have arisen. Jack Coniston was the last
man to make enemies. Cheery, approachable, always
good-tempered, and incapable of any meanness, he had
money enough to be generous and not sufficient to ex-
cite envy. He was well-liked wherever he went. To
imagine anyone plotting against him in revenge was
almost incredible.
But Jack Coniston was a member of the Syndicate,
and that put the whole thing in a different light. If there
had been foul play, it was clear enough that the person
aimed at was not Jack Coniston, private individual, but
Jack Coniston, No. 3 of the Novem Syndicate, whose
death meant that still more money would trickle into
the hands of the surviving members. That was the only
credible motive in the background in this case. Willen-
hall was a stranger, and for all one knew, he might have
had private enemies; but Coniston had been on the spot
long enough to be well known, and the idea of private
revenge in his case was merely absurd. He was a mem-
ber of this accursed Syndicate; there was the rub. Three


164
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"accidental" deaths out of nine people within a month:
that was far too high an average for probability.
At last, however, the Inspector was forced to give up
the Coniston problem in sheer despair; and he turned
back, perforce, to the death of Willenhall. If the two
events were linked together — as he was firmly con-
vinced they were — then the solution of one problem
would probably lead to the clearing up of the other;
and in view of the complete dearth of evidence in the
motor case, the catastrophe at the Gape seemed to offer
a better chance.
Not over-hopefully, Severn re-examined his notes on
the matter; but for all his conning, they suggested noth-
ing fresh. It was easy enough to have suspicions. He
had plenty of suspicions, if it came to that. But it was
a different thing to find clues which could really be
followed up. There seemed to be nothing to take hold
of in the business.
In something like despair, he turned once again to
the photographs; and, determined that this time he
would miss nothing, he scrutinised each of them through
a magnifying glass. The first series yielded nothing;
but he had expected that. The second roll's contents
proved equally barren of any hint, although he spent
immense pains in the reviewing of each picture, inch by
inch, in the case of the two exposures made at the Gape.
Rather despondently he turned to the final set of three.
The two prints showing the mouth of the Gape were
sterile like the rest. He laid them aside, and put the
final picture — the one taken from the cliff-top — under
his lens; and suddenly, in the magnified image, a tiny
detail sprang to his eye, a thing so small that it had
completely escaped his notice during his earlier ex-
aminations.


THE STICK 165
"That's it!" he exclaimed aloud in his excitement at
the discovery.
Putting the positive with the others, he sought out
the strip of film containing the corresponding negative
and subjected that in its turn to a minute examination
with his lens, lest he should have been deceived by a
flaw in the film. Then, to make doubly sure, at. the first
convenient opportunity he made an enlargement of that
particular picture on bromide paper.
Then, satisfied at last, he sat down to consider the
best course to pursue. The detail was a very minute one
indeed; and he was just a shade doubtful if an ordinary
person would be able to make out without prompting,
the precise nature of the original object. His first in-
clination was to show it to one of his subordinates; .but
on consideration he rejected this course. No matter how
well-disciplined a force may be, there is always danger
of leakage; and this was a case in which any leakage
might be dangerous. The least whisper would be mag-
nified by gossip over the whole countryside; for once
the fact came out, people would not be slow in hinting at
names; and then there would be trouble of a most un-
pleasant kind, whilst the actual criminal would be fore-
warned. Anything would be better than that. And then,
as he considered the difficulty, a name came to his mind.
Wendover was the very man he wanted. He had a
sound judgment; he knew the facts and the place; he
was a close friend of the Chief Constable; and he would
keep his mouth shut.,There would be no breach of con-
fidence where he was concerned.
Much relieved by this happy thought, Severn went
to the telephone and rang up the Grange to make an
appointment for that evening. Then he packed up the
photographs and put them under lock and key.


166
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
It was just after Wendover's dinner-hour that Severn
arrived at the Grange, laden with his exhibits. He was
shown into the smoking-room, where he found his
host.
"Have some coffee before you produce the hand-
cuffs?" Wendover invited. "They're bringing me mine.
Or would you rather have a whiskey and soda?"
The Inspector, recalling that Wendover's whiskey
was a pre-war stock, chose the second alternative.
"That relieves my mind," said Wendover, chaffingly.
"If this were a domiciliary visit of the unpleasant type,
I know you wouldn't take a drink. Have a cigar? Or
would you rather have your pipe? There's a tobacco-
jar over there if you care about it."
The Inspector postponed his business for the mo-
ment.
"I don't care about going round saying: 'Hush!
Hush!' and all that sort of thing, Mr. Wendover; but
I'd rather wait till your maid's brought your coffee and
cleared out again. What I want to consult you about
is strictly confidential, you understand? I've come to
you because I can trust your judgment and I know you
won't talk. One whisper of this business might cause
the devil's own bother."
"I won't chatter," Wendover promised. "By the way,
before I forget about it, here's another specimen to add
to your archives. It arrived this morning, and I was just
going to send it over to you when you rang up."
He felt in his pocket, produced a letter in its enve-
lope, and handed it across to the Inspector.
"Postmarked last night at the local office," Severn
noted as he examined it. "It's another threatening letter,
isn't it? Same kind of envelope and paper as the last
one, I see. Ribbon copy again, too. They seem to give


THE STICK 167
you the best specimen always. Letter itself undated,
like the last one. Let's see what they say: —
That's two of you bumped off now. No need to mention
names. Haven't you got any sense or must we go on a bit
further with the job before you get on to the idea that we
mean business?
Whenever we put one of you in the bone-yard the rest of
you collect a bigger share of the pool and if you think you'll
get this for nothing you're off the rails.
This time it will be thirty thousand pounds (£30,000)
that you will have to pay. It will have to be in small notes
(old ones) the same as you ought to have used last time
and you can plant it at the old place the day after tomorrow
at midnight. Don't try any fresh stuff on us and remember
that if you don't pay this time somebody else will be bumped
off and by then it will cost you fifty thousand pounds
(£50,000) to save your skins.
You are giving us a lot of trouble and we are getting
tired of you.
Yours truly
THE BLACK HAND
p.p. Big-headed Ben the Gunman"
The Inspector pondered over the document for a
moment or two after he had read it. The maid came
in with Wendover's coffee, and then returned with
whiskey and soda for the guest. When she had gone,
Severn looked up.
"I'll keep this," he said, tapping the document.
"What do you think of it yourself, Mr. Wendover?"
"I'm damned if I know what to make of it," Wen-
dover replied in a rather irritated tone. "The first time,
I thought it was simply some cinema-struck kids amus-
-


168
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
ing themselves. I'm not sure even yet that it's not that.
But if it's a joke, it's growing a bit gruesome, and the
jokers would be none the worse for a lesson. And if it
isn't a joke, then it ought to be looked into."
"You're not thinking of paying?" demanded the In-
spector.
"Pm not," Wendover assured him emphatically.
"But some of the rest of the Syndicate are?" Severn
suggested, catching the hint of Wendover's emphasis.
Wendover hesitated for a moment as though not sure
whether he should say anything further.
"Well, there's nothing particularly confidential about
it, and I don't see why I shouldn't tell you," he con-
fessed at length. "Some of them are getting cold feet
over the business, so far as I can judge. At least, that's
my impression of the state of affairs and I give you it
merely for your own information. Old Peter Thursford
is going about with an aged and formidable-looking
revolver in his pocket, swearing that he's able to look
after himself; but his young nephew seems to me grow-
ing a shade white about the gills. Of course, the agony's
being drawn out a bit by the delays over this High Court
business. Young Thursford has insisted on a meeting
of the Syndicate in a day or two, presumably to discuss
the whole affair."
"If you pay and let the matter drop, you're com-
pounding a felony," the Inspector pointed out.
"I'm not going to pay," Wendover retorted. "I wasn't
over-keen on joining this Syndicate at the start. I did
it more out of mere politeness than anything else. But
now I'm in it, I stay in it; all the more since this kind
of thing started. I'm not going to be frightened out of
my position by threats."
Quite obviously Wendover's pride had been touched


THE STICK
169
by the mere suggestion that he might show the white
feather. So far as the money went, the affair made little
appeal to him; but now that he seemed to have got into
a position of possible danger, a streak of obstinacy in
his character forced him to stand by his guns. He would
have despised himself if he had turned tail and cleared
out of the business, even though common sense favoured
that course.
"I'm glad I came up this evening," the Inspector con-
fessed. "If that's the state of affairs, I think you ought
to know what I've found out now, though I'm telling
you it absolutely in confidence. It may alter your views."
Wendover shook his head decidedly, but refrained
from interrupting his guest. Severn produced his photo-
graphs and laid them on the table beside him.
"What do you think of Coniston's death coming on
top of the aeroplane crash and the business at Hell's
Gape?" he asked, with a keen look in Wendover's di-
rection.
"A curious coincidence," Wendover replied.
"With the accent on the adjective? That's how I felt
about it myself. But the plain truth is that I haven't
been able to rake up a single bit of evidence to prove
that it was anything more than an accident. If it was
a criminal business, it was managed by a pretty sharp
man who left nothing to take hold of. But if it was more
than accidental, then the Hell's Gape affair was prob-
ably more than a mishap, too. That's how I looked at
it; and I've spent all my spare time puzzling over it to
see if I couldn't make something out."
He drew the small table between himself and Wen-
dover, picked up one of the photographs, and offered his
host a magnifying glass.
"I don't want to bias you by describing the thing in


170
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
any way," he explained. "I've got an idea that it's a
certain object, and I want to see if you can recognise
it as that, without being prompted in any way whatever.
I'll point to it with my pencil — there! — and now I
want you to look at it through the glass and see what
you make of it."
Wendover took the glass and bent over the print to
examine it. The Inspector did not hurry him; and
Wendover, impressed by the caution which Severn had
shown, took his time over the scrutiny. At last he looked
up and the Inspector saw in his face that his own guess
had been confirmed and that Wendover also had grasped
the import of the discovery.
"I'll tell you what I see," Wendover said, picking up
the glass again to refresh his impression. "It looks to
me very like the extreme tip of a walkingstick, just the
ferule and about an inch of the wood. There's too little
of the stick itself showing for me to make out what
pattern it is. But there's one thing quite plain. It's got
the ordinary tubular brass ferule on the stick-end. Is
that what you made of it?"
Instead of answering, the Inspector pushed an en-
larged version of the picture across the table. Wendover
examined it in turn.
"That shows it fairly well. In the original it's very
small; but once you get your attention called to it, I
think it's plain enough. I don't think I'd have noticed
it if you hadn't drawn my attention to it, since it's such
a minute detail in a small-scale photograph; but I'd
be prepared to swear now that it's that and nothing
else."
"You might just verify it on the negative," Severn
suggested, pushing the film over to Wendover.
"Yes, I can see it all right. Now hold on a moment. I


THE STICK
171
want to see where this leads to, if I can, without your
help."
"That was the last photograph that Willenhall took
at the Gape," Severn explained.
"And WillenhalPs own walkingstick had an alpen-
stock point, so this must be the stick of a second person
who was there when that snapshot was taken."
"Yes," said Severn. "And that person apparently had
his reasons for not offering himself as a witness at the
inquest."


CHAPTER XI: A, B, C, AND D
Wendover did not even pretend to be surprised by the
Inspector's innuendo.
"To put it in plain language, No. 2 was the murderer,
you mean?" he asked.
Severn nodded gravely.
"Yes. And that stick-point in the photograph repre-
sents the murderer's one mistake. He must have imag-
ined that his stick was too near the camera to appear
in the picture. Or he may not have noticed it was there
at all when the snapshot was taken. If it hadn't come
out on the film, there wasn't a shadow of evidence to
prove that Willenhall wasn't alone when the affair hap-
pened. Now we know a second man was on the spot,
and the whole affair's altered."
Wendover picked up the print and the magnifying
glass again and made a prolonged examination of the
tiny detail.
"It's no good," he said reluctantly, as he put them
down again. "There isn't enough of the stick showing.
If there had been another inch or two, one might have
seen something on that to identify it by. But so far as
that photograph goes, it might be any kind of stick,
barring an ebony one."
"That's true," the Inspector admitted, undepressed.
"But it's no good grousing because one hasn't got every-
thing, especially when something like this turns up.
Look what that single film's proved. First of all, Willen-
hall wasn't alone at the Gape. Second, he was alive at


A , B , C , AND D 173
1.45 p. m. that day. Third, the man who was with him
carried a stick. That's a fair amount to expect from any
single snapshot, and I don't feel inclined to grumble be-
cause the murderer wasn't kind enough to write his name
on a postcard and send it to me."
"It's just as well that I was in the company of the
Chief Constable all that day from breakfast-time up
to the moment when we discovered the body," Wen-
dover commented, in a half-serious tone. "Otherwise you
might have suspected I had a hand in it, since I'm a
member of the Syndicate."
"It's my business to suspect everybody now," the
Inspector retorted, rather grimly. "But you've got a
clear alibi, so there's no use wasting suspicion on you,
Mr. Wendover. To tell you the truth, that's one reason
why I've consulted you. You're in the Syndicate and
know all about it and yet you're absolutely clear of this
affair."
"Well, you can say what you like. You know it won't
go any further."
Severn picked up his glass and took a small drink be-
fore beginning.
"Probably you've thought of a good deal of this your-
self," he commenced tentatively. "If you don't want
it, just say so. But it would be a help to me if I put it
into words; help to clear it up and make it more precise
in my own mind, you understand. I've had to keep it to
myself, and it's quite on the cards that I've missed some
obvious point just by thinking round it too much. One
gets blind spots, sometimes."
"I'm interested," Wendover interjected, concisely.
The Inspector acknowledged this with a gesture.
"Motive's the obvious thing to tackle, first of all," he
continued. "In this case, there's no difficulty. Who would


174
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
want to kill this man Willenhall, a stranger in the place
and a harmless person, so far as we've been able to
ascertain from every source we've tried to tap? Nobody
had any grudge against him that we can learn anything
about. And who would want to kill young Coniston, a
very well-liked man, good friends with everyone, and
quite popular in his own circle? So far as we've gone,
there isn't a hint of anything in the way of a private
grudge in the background in either case. That notion's
absurd, anyhow, because you'd have to find a murderer
with a strong animus against two men who were stran-
gers to each other until a week or two ago; or else you'd
have to suppose that two murderers happened to start
business simultaneously. The thing won't stand a mo-
ment's examination. I looked into it, because one has to
be thorough. But it's simply preposterous.
"It's plain to anyone that what linked those two peo-
ple together was this Syndicate of yours. And it's the
Syndicate, and only the Syndicate, that starts suspicion
about the whole affair. People fall over cliffs, and no-
body thinks much of it except their relatives. People
get killed in motor accidents every day. It's only when
you put the two things together, and add the Syndicate,
that anyone would think twice.
"Now here's the state of affairs from the money side."
He pushed a small sheet of paper over to Wendover.
TOTAL PRIZE-MONEY £241,920
9 sharing Value of share = £26,880
Blackburn's death
8 sharing Value of share = £30,240
Willenhall's death


A , B , C, AND D
175
7 sharing Value of share =
6 sharing
5 sharing
4 sharing
Value of share =
Value of share =
Value of share =
£34,560
£40,320
£48,384
£60,480
Coniston's death
"I haven't carried it any further," the Inspector com-
mented grimly. "What I want you to notice is that it's
what you might call an accelerated increase. Black-
burn's death made only a difference of £3,400 in the
value of the share. Willenhall's death made a further
increase of £4,300. When Coniston dropped out, the
value of each remaining share in the Syndicate jumped
by £5,800; and a share that was worth £26,000 at the
start had now grown to £40,000, which is a fairly tempt-
ing amount to some people. The next jump would be one
of £8,000, and the one after that would be £12,000 — a
pretty tidy lot of money in itself.
"Now if I can see that, the murderer must have seen
it too. He'd a more direct interest in it than I have. And
what I want to drive home is that progressive rise and its
possible bearing on the whole affair.
"It's a risky enough business to commit a single mur-
der. If you commit two, the risks are more than doubled.
If you commit three murders, the chances of detection go
leaping up. Smith, of that Brides-in-the-Bath case, might
have got off scot-free if he hadn't gone beyond his second
murder. He took too' big a risk when he tried the same
game a third time.
"But here, with your Syndicate, the prizes go leaping
up in parallel to the risk: £4,300 the first time, £5,800
next time, and the next jump, if it came, would be £8,000.
Carry on, and if the risk of detection grows, so does the
prize you'll get if you win. For every extra risk you take,


176
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
you get a bigger and bigger cash return if you pull it
off."
Wendover listened to this expose as though the In-
spector had been expounding a problem in algebra. From
his attitude, no one could have guessed that he himself
ran any risk of being the victim who might cause a fu-
ture "leap-up" in the dividends of the Syndicate.
"That's very ingenious," was his only comment, as
Severn paused.
"My idea," the Inspector pursued, with a certain grue-
some enthusiasm, "is that it was Blackburn's death that
put the murderer on to the idea originally. He must have
reckoned out how much more he was going to get, owing
to the air-mail crash; and that likely suggested the idea
of improving things still further. It was sort of thrust
under his nose, you see.
"But at that time, the thing was a practical impossi-
bility. The interval between the race and the payment
of the prizes was far too short to allow of any campaign
of murder which had a ghost of a chance of success. Then
came that injunction in the High Court; and the usual
legal delays. That was what gave him his chance. But
even so, it meant quick work. For one thing, he couldn't
be sure that Dyce & Monyash mightn't withdraw their
opposition in the High Court, and then the whole thing
would be closed immediately.
"Suppose that the idea was in his head when the in-
junction was launched, what would his obvious line be?
A set of plain murders would be a bit too crude. The mo-
tive would stick out all over a series of crimes of that
sort, done in rapid succession as these would have to be.
Far too fisky, even with big stakes. No, he must have
looked round for something better; and then he must
have hit on the idea of a set of 'accidents' — things


A, B, C, AND D 177
which on the face of it didn't suggest murder at all: a fall
over a cliff, a motor smash, things of that sort.
"If that was his line, then Willenhall was obviously
bound to be the first victim. Why? Because he was only
a visitor and might go off at any moment back to Lon-
don, where there would be less chance of dealing with
him. I'm pretty confident I'm right there. Well, you
know what happened to Willenhall. And if it hadn't been
for all this money in the background, Willenhall's death
wouldn't have excited a whiff of suspicion, not one. Cer-
tainly not in my mind; and I don't mind owning up to
that.
"Whoever this beggar is, he's a smart devil; that I
don't deny. I'm not one to underestimate my oppo-
nents. The question is: who is he? I don't know who he
is; but I can make a guess at who he isn't. He isn't any-
body without some interest in that Syndicate of yours,
direct or indirect. That's as plain as the nose on my
face.
"Now turn to the Syndicate and you find the thing's
more complex than it looks at first sight. You're beyond
suspicion yourself. Blackburn, Willenhall, and Coniston
are dead. That leaves five of the original Syndicate still
to be dealt with. But there's more in it than that; for
some of these people have sold parts of their shares, and
in that way a fresh set of individuals have got a footing
in the scheme. You heard about these transactions your-
self. Who were these mysterious beggars who bought
their way into the Syndicate? Nobody knows. They're
simply not on the map. And yet their stake in the affair
is quite a respectable one. I've gone into that side of the
thing also, and here's how it stands."
He passed a second sheet of paper across to Wen-
dover.


178
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
WENDOVER
P. THURSFORD
H. THURSFORD
FALGATE
CHECKLEY
REDHILL
Holding of A.
Holding of B.
Holding of C.
Holding of D.
Shares Sold
None
None
None
None?
\ Share to A.
$ Share to B.
I Share to C.
$ Share to D.
Value of present interest
£40,320
£40,320
£40,320
£40,320
£30,240
Share
Share
Share
Share?
f Share
I Share
£ 6,720
J Share
$ Share
$ Share
& Share
£10,080
£13,440
£13,440
£ 6,720
TOTAL HOLDING OF A, B,C,&D £43,680
"That's the best I can make of it," the Inspector
said in a guarded tone. "I've really no information about
Falgate's holding. He may have parted with some of his
share, or he may not. When I tried to pump him about
it, he as good as damned my eyes and told me to mind
my own business. In which he was quite within his
rights," Severn added, magnanimously. "The subject
seemed a sore one, I gathered."
"Ah?" Wendover interjected absent-mindedly.
He was apparently devoting his attention to the list
and paying only casual regard to what the Inspector said.
"I don't wonder at that," Severn continued. "It's no
secret that he's hard up and that this prize-money would
come in very handy. But he can't touch it immediately
on account of this High Court affair and what's more, he
can't borrow on the strength of it, either. That's where
the shoe pinches, I expect."


180
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
ABCD, a single individual, with a holding of £43,680?
That would put the tiling in a different light, wouldn't it?
His share would be the biggest of the whole lot, then.
And if one assumes that somebody will commit murder
for £40,000, then it's no less likely that somebody else
will do it for £43,000."
Wendover looked up, startled by this fresh idea.
"You mean that this mysterious outsider . . ."
"Has the biggest motive of the lot, if the prize-money's
at the root of the whole business," the Inspector com-
pleted the phrase. "And that would account for all this
mystery-mongering over the transactions in the shares,
wouldn't it? I don't quite see my way through the col-
lection of the cash by Mr. ABCD without his identity
coming out. That looks difficult to me. But he's got a
document that makes it practically 'Payable to Bearer,'
you remember; and I don't deny that a smart fellow
might manage it without leaving traces behind him."
"It's not exactly a bearer bond," Wendover agreed.
"But perhaps there might be some way of managing it,
as you say."
"I'm not worrying my head over it just now," Severn
confessed with a faint shrug, "for that's all hypothetical
stuff. For all I know, A, B, C, and D, may be entirely
different people. I'm just trying to cover every possibil-
ity, no matter how odd it looks at first sight."
Dismissing the matter, he turned to a fresh aspect of
the affair.
"There's one thing more," he explained, producing a
fresh set of photographs from his pocket and laying
them in front of Wendover. "Here are prints of the
snapshots showing the Maiden's Well. Just look at these
three with Mr. Thursford in them. Do you see anything
interesting in them?"


A, B, C, AND D 181
Wendover scanned the three prints for a few moments
and then shook his head.
"Do I need the glass to see it?" he asked finally.
"No, it's in plain sight," the Inspector assured him.
"Or, rather," he corrected himself quickly, "it isn't in
plain sight at all."
Wendover, enlightened by the last phrase, examined
and compared the three snapshots.
"I see what you mean, I think. Thursford has no stick
with him. Is that it?"
"That's it," Severn confirmed. "And here's another
point. Mr. Checkley came up the hill from his car.
Would he be carrying a stick? Not likely. And these are
the only two people we've any trace of, who saw Willen-
hall — alive or dead — after he took the short cut up
through the Silver Grove grounds. It's that last bit of
evidence that makes me so interested in this Mr.
ABCD."
Wendover was quick to see the implications of this.
"The murderer had a stick with him. Thursford had
no stick, according to the prints. And I don't remember
his having any stick when we came across him that after-
noon, either, which confirms that idea. Checkley had no
stick, obviously, since he came in his car. But Thursford
might have seen the murderer pass, if he came from the
east. Or Sir Clinton and I would have seen him fairly
easily from the high ground before we came down to
where we met young Thursford and Miss Langdale. A
man moving over that sort of country catches the eye
at once. And he didn't pass Checkley on the road at
Brookman's Farm, or Checkley would have remembered
it. That means the murderer didn't reach the Gape from
the east, north, or west. He must have come up on the
pinnacle side, evidently. It's open ground there; but he'd


182
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
be hidden from all of us by the slope which makes the
north side of the Gape."
But while Wendover was uttering this reasoning, his
intimate mind was busy with another aspect of the af-
fair, and suddenly a great flood of relief went through
him.
Now that his mind was at ease, he was able to admit
to himself that he had harboured suspicions about both
Checkley and Harry Thursford. They were obviously
without any definite foundation on fact, and he had
never admitted to himself that he believed them in the
slightest. Nevertheless, they had got a lodgement in his
brain and had lurked there despite his determination to
expel them. Now he was glad to drive them out com-
pletely; and as he cast them away, he recognised how
completely irrational they had been. Harry Thursford
had been the last person — barring the murderer — to
see Willenhall alive; Checkley had been — again bar-
ring the murderer — the first person to find the body.
These had been absolutely the only grounds for suspect-
ing the two; and Wendover was rather ashamed to recog-
nise it now.
His relief had other grounds as well. There was no use
burking the fact that these fatalities had thrown a cloud
of suspicion over the whole personnel of the Syndicate.
It wasn't merely young Thursford and Checkley. Every
surviving member of the group gained by these deaths
and ran the risk of being branded by his fellows as the
criminal. He himself was the only one who was abso-
lutely beyond doubt. He had seen some of the results
when two of the Syndicate came together by chance since
Coniston's death. There was a certain constraint, a side-
long mutual inspection, a kind of armed neutrality verg-
ing almost on semi-hostility in some cases. "Is this the
I


184
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"What about the threatening letters?" he suggested
finally.'
"There was local knowledge there, too," Severn ad-
mitted at once. "You remember in the first one that the
place to cache the notes was laid down — the third
milestone on the Ambledown road. Well, I've been there.
It's a good place. Very hard to set a watch on it without
being spotted. There you've got local knowledge again.
The other milestones would have been no good for the
job.".
"Then you think these threatening letters were meant
to be taken seriously after all?"
The Inspector refused to commit himself directly.
"Suppose Mr. ABCD wrote them. Suppose you fell
into the trap and paid up. He'd be so much in pocket.
But that wouldn't hinder him going on with his original
scheme, would it? That's just a guess. One has to look
at all sides of a thing like this."


NECK OR NOTHING
187
Court. The whole affair will be squared up and the dis-
tribution of the prize-money can be tackled immedi-
ately. We'll get done with the whole business. That's
what I mean."
He stopped abruptly, evidently relieved to have fin-
ished, and glanced round the room to see the effect of
his words.
Falgate lost no time in lending his support to the
suggestion.
"That seems a sound proposition," he said with a cer-
tain eagerness. "Let's cut the loss, square up the whole
affair once and for all, and get the money now."
It cost Wendover little trouble to interpret Falgate's
motive. If he was in deep waters financially, the main
thing he needed was immediate cash; and this scheme
of Harry Thursford's offered the chance of that, even
if it meant a certain loss in paying off the Blackburn
share. But with Harry Thursford himself, Wendover
was not so sure. There had been both nervousness and
vehemence in his voice as he made his proposal, and he
was obviously desperately anxious to know how it
would be received. "He's lost his nerve over the affair.
A bad case of cold feet," was Wendover's slightly con-
temptuous judgment. "For two pins, that young man
would admit that he's afraid of being the next of us
to go."
Harry Thursford's face had relaxed slightly when
Falgate gave his support, but it grew strained again
when Checkley put in his oar.
"I'm not quite sure about it," Checkley began, in a
tone which belied his words. "Of course, I daresay we'd
all be glad to have this business settled. It's dragged on
far too long. But when it comes to cutting losses, one
wants to know just what one's cutting. There are six


188
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
of us here; as things stand, we get £40,320 each. If we
concede Blackburn's share, then we only get £34,560
apiece. That's a drop of about £6,000 capital for each
of us. £6,000 is a fair sum, a very fair amount. It's equal
to £300 a year income. One can't go flinging £300 a year
away without thinking about it."
Wendover found himself voicing a fresh suggestion.
"If we concede that Blackburn's trustees have any
standing in the affair at all," he said, "then it seems to
me fair that we should treat all alike. WillenhalPs estate
and Coniston's estate ought to profit as well. I admit
there's a second agreement; but my own personal feel-
ing is that we should blot that second agreement out
altogether, if we begin making changes at all. In equity,
I can see no reason why Blackburn's relatives should
get a share, whilst the relatives of the other two are left
out in the cold. That's how I look at it: either all three
or else none."
"But that would mean a drop in the value of our
shares from £40,000 to £26,000," Checkley protested
angrily. "That's out of the question. I don't mind con-
sidering our paying £26,000 — say £4,500 apiece — to
Blackburn's trustees to get things settled up and done
with as quickly as possible. I think that's carrying gen-
erosity to the limit. But to lose £14,000 out of my share I
No, no! That's away over the score!"
Wendover surprised a sudden, almost malevolent
glance turned on him by Harry Thursford. Obviously
Harry had expected to net Checkley with the bait of a
speedy settlement made by a comparatively small sac-
rifice; and Checkley had nibbled at the proposal. But
Wendover's amendment had called for a bigger conces-
sion than Checkley would ever endorse, and on this
rock Harry's scheme was going to founder. As Wendover


190
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
I'm not going to be argued or intimidated out of these
rights by anyone. I'd be ashamed of myself if I went
back on what I've said, merely because somebody . . .
because I might be endangering my skin by refusing.
I'm not particularly afraid about my skin, gentlemen.
And, as I hope I've made clear, my vote goes against
any change in our arrangements."
Wendover let his eye range round the group. Harry
Thursford had evidently not consulted his uncle before
bringing forward his- suggestion, and old Peter's blunt
refusal to consider the matter seemed to have shaken
his nephew even more than what had already occurred.
It meant the final turning down of the scheme, since
the old man was evidently inflexible in his decision. On
Falgate's face also, Wendover could see marked disap-
pointment as the prospect of immediate payment was
ended in this summary fashion. Checkley seemed torn
between two emotions. Only Tommie Redhill main-
tained his attitude of polite indifference.
"If Mr. Thursford insists on holding to the agree-
ments, there's nothing more to be said, I suppose,"
Wendover pointed out. "In any case, there was no gen-
eral agreement on any of the courses proposed."
Nobody objected, and one or two of the party rose
from their seats as though ready to go. But at that mo-
ment Harry Thursford broke out in a shrill voice:
"Wait! If you won't take my scheme, I've something
else to say. I'm sick of this business. I've had enough
of it. It's too risky for my taste. First Willenhall, and
then Coniston. And who'll be the next?"
At this blunt utterance of the thing which was in all
their minds, his audience stood as though frozen by the
vehemence of his cry.
"I don't care what you think," Harry Thursford went


NECK OR NOTHING 191
on, "It's not worth it. You've all been pretending that
the real thing isn't there at all. But it is there. We're
getting knocked out, one by one, so that the remaining
shares go up each time. Each of us is looking sideways
at the rest and wondering who's IT. Most of us wonder
how long we'll last. That's the plain truth, isn't it? Well,
I've had enough of it. No money's worth it. I'm going
to clear out. I resign from the Syndicate. You hear?
I take you all to witness that I've got no further share
in the business. You can divide my money among you.
Do what you like. It doesn't concern me. I'm done with
the whole affair from this moment."
Old Peter stared at his nephew with an expression of
contemptuous surprise.
"You white-livered young skunk!" he said with
deadly quietness.
Harry was evidently too much wrought up to care
for the insult.
"Say what you like," he retorted, "You won't hurt
me. You can't force me to stay in this damned Syndicate
if I choose to clear out. And I'm clearing out, here and
now. Understand that? Here and now! It's not worth
it, even for a hundred thousand."
Checkley's lizard mouth dropped slightly open as he
stared at Harry Thursford. It was evidently difficult
for him to realise that anyone could actually relinquish
£40,000 when it was almost within his grasp. But when
he had assured himself that Harry was serious, his busi-
ness instincts came to the surface and served to bring
the scene back to normal.
"I think that ought to be put in writing," he suggested.
"Oh, I'll do that with pleasure," Harry Thursford
agreed in a tone which put new life into the cliche. "As
a matter of fact, I've got it written out already."


192
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
He pulled a paper from his pocket.
"'I, Henry Thursford, a member of the Novem Syn-
dicate, do hereby relinquish all rights in the said Syndi-
cate of any kind whatsoever from the present moment
onwards.' Is that clear enough for you, Checkley? It
is? Well, then, I'll sign it and you can witness it if you
like."
Tommie Redhill held up his hand.
"Wait a moment," he said in his equable tones. "This
ought to be witnessed by disinterested parties, not by
members of the Syndicate. Perhaps a couple of your
maids, Mr. Wendover?" Then, turning to Harry he
added, "You're a fool to do this. Better think over it
a bit. There'll be no second deal, remember. If you sign
it, you'll have to stand by it."
"I've thought over it already," Harry answered in a
calmer tone. "D'you think I wrote out that paper with-
out thinking about it? I've lost my nerve and all I want
is to get clear while there's time. I daresay you think
I'm 'a white-livered skunk.' I can't help it if you do.
My nerves won't stand it any longer; I can't sleep; I
can't eat; I can't do anything except wonder what's go-
ing to happen next. I'd be suiciding, if this sort of thing
went on."
He halted abruptly as Wendover rang the bell. No-
body else spoke while Wendover gave a few words of
explanation to his maids and Harry put his signature to
the document. The two witnesses signed and were dis-
missed.
"That makes each of the remaining shares worth
£48,384," Checkley announced with an attempt at casu-
alness which was belied by the rather gloating tone in
which he rolled out the figures.
Then his eyes roamed uneasily round the group, as


NECK OR NOTHING
193
though he were calculating something less agreeable
than the share values. Wendover guessed what was in
his mind. Besides the two of them, the Syndicate now
contained only Falgate, Tommie Redhill, and old Peter
Thursford. And Checkley was probably wondering
which of these three he had to beware of in the near
future. He would hardly have got the length of inferring
the existence of that other sinister factor in the situa-
tion, Mr. ABCD. And as he saw Checkley's disquiet,
Wendover could have found it in himself to curse the
stubbornness which had forced him to stand in with the
rest of the Syndicate. The money meant little enough
to him. Common sense dictated that he should copy
Harry Thursford's example and drop out altogether.
And yet he knew quite well that nothing would have
driven him to that line of conduct. Something much more
important to him than the money was at stake: his self-
esteem. While his intellect admitted that Harry had
taken the most sensible course, a feeling stronger than
intellect prevented him from even thinking of backing
out. Besides, were they not all a little inclined to jump to
conclusions? But as he assured himself of this, the pic-
ture of that ferule drifted across his memory.
Falgate was the first to leave, with a curt nod as he
went out of the room. Redhill, evidently not anxious
to speak to Harry Thursford at that time, hurried after
Falgate.
Checkley, slightly ill at ease, crossed over to where
Wendover was standing, and began to make conversa-
tion.
"I'm in a bit of a difficulty just now," he began. "You
remember that recipe that Willenhall said he'd got hold
of — the new brand of sweetmeat that some old woman
or other makes? It's damned annoying. It sounded


NECK OR NOTHING
195
plied in a tone of assumed indifference. "You ought to
see a lot, with the care you take of your skin."
Harry refused to be drawn on this subject. He picked
up the document which still lay on the table and handed
it over to Wendover.
"You'd better put this in your safe along with the
others," he said abruptly, and then, without a glance
at his uncle, he left the room.
Old Peter had recovered his grand manner.
"I feel I must apologise for my nephew, gentlemen,"
he said. "It was a most unseemly exhibition, that. And
I hope that you'll take my word for it that it came as
a surprise to me just as much as to you. I was quite
ashamed that any relative of mine should behave in that
way before you all."
"Don't mention it," said Checkley, fatuously.
Peter stared hard at him for a moment, and then, with
a dignified inclination to his host, he left the room.
"How happy they'll be at dinner tonight," Checkley
surmised with a malicious grin. "And I guess the old
man's temper will deteriorate between now and the
evening. He's a bit hurt in his pride over the business.
And no wonder."
Then, seeing from Wendover's expression that this
line of conversation was not welcomed, he returned to
his original subject.
"About that recipe, though. You'll let me know if
you happen to remember anything that might put me
on to it?"
"I'll let you know," Wendover agreed, dismissing his
guest with as much celerity as politeness would admit.
When the last member of the Syndicate had departed,
Wendover lit a cigar and sat down to gather together
his impressions of the meeting. And as he came to think


196
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
over it, he was surprised to find how varied the behav-
iour of these five people had been. He leaned back in
his chair and tried to fathom the motives behind what
he had seen.
Redhill's position was the easiest to understand. His
stake was now a small one at the best, and therefore
the purely monetary factor had less influence with him
than with any of the others. He was a cool-headed fel-
low, capable of taking a risk without turning a hair if
he thought the reward was worth it. His behaviour at
the time of the fire at his works showed that well enough.
Probably he had sized up the risks in the matter of the
Syndicate and had come to the conclusion that they
were not so great, after all. Severn had been quite right
in saying that the stake was increased with each death
in the Syndicate; but quite likely the limit had now
been reached and there would be no third tragedy. After
all, £40,000 was a very fair sum to most of these people,
and probably to Mr. ABCD also, if that mysterious in-
dividual had any real existence. It was quite on the
cards that there would be no further "accidents." Pos-
sibly Redhill had taken that view. And, of course, Red-
hill had scored a point in Wendover's opinion by the
way he had backed up the proposal to include the
Willenhall and Coniston estates in the compromise.
That showed some decent feelings.
Falgate's motives were not very obscure either. He
needed ready cash badly, and was eager to grasp at any
project which seemed likely to wind up the Syndicate,
even at a loss, so that he might get his hands on the
money. To judge by his looks, he must be very near
the edge, financially. But Wendover could not quite un-
derstand why things should worry Falgate as much as
they did. If the worst came to the worst, he could go


NECK OR NOTHING
197
bankrupt and then, when the prize-money came in, he
would be able to pay off his creditors and get the
stigma of bankruptcy removed. But perhaps Falgate
happened to be one of these people who felt bankruptcy
a disgrace, not in itself, but because it implied that they
had made a failure of themselves. Possibly some queer
distorted idea of business success lay at the back of Fal-
gate's troubles. And then a fresh viewpoint suggested
itself to Wendover. Where did Viola Langdale come in?
Falgate had been keen enough on her at one time; and, if
rumour counted for anything, he had become keen once
more, only to find himself forestalled by Harry Thurs-
ford. Was it Viola that lay at the back of Falgate's af-
fairs, and not money? Of one thing Wendover was sure:
Falgate had got to such a state that fear for his personal
safety was not a deciding factor with him.
Checkley was an unpleasant subject. If money had
to come into a conversation, Wendover preferred it to
be simply "money" without too much stress on amounts.
But Checkley was one of these people who couldn't
think of cash except in terms of precise figures. Wen-
dover might pay "a tenner or so" for something; but
Checkley, he felt sure, would pay the same sum and
docket it mentally as "£10 (say ten pounds sterling)."
A share in the Syndicate meant £40,000 to Wendover;
whereas in Checkley's mind it represented £40,320, no
more, no less. And apart from that, Wendover disliked
Checkley very thoroughly. That streak of petty mali-
ciousness which showed itself in his grin at Harry
Thursford's troubles — the sort of thing the Germans
call Schadenfreude — was a nasty characteristic of
Checkley. And the little beast was obviously torn be-
tween a desire for safety on the one hand and a greed
for money on the other. Wendover recalled those dis-


198 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
trustful glances which Checkley had thrown sidelong
at his neighbours. Clearly enough he would be glad to
get the Syndicate wound up; but he could not bring
himself to make the necessary financial sacrifice.
Peter Thursford was something of an enigma to Wen-
dover. Was he really sincere in all this talk about justice
and his rights? Or was that simply a mask for pure
greed? When he was sober, he made quite a good im-
pression; but alcohol washed away the surface dignity
completely and exposed a very different stratum under-
neath. In this affair, was he simply taking a risk because
he thought it a negligible one, or had he really a con-
tempt for danger because he relied on his own strength?
From some things which Peter had dropped at one time
or another, Wendover knew that he had roughed it
abroad in his early days in places where a man had to
rely on his own resources more often than not.
Then there was Harry Thursford. Wendover con-
fessed to himself that Harry had been both a surprise
and a disappointment. That yellow streak wasn't at all
the thing he had looked for in Harry, from the little he
knew of him. And undoubtedly when it did show, it had
been very conspicuous. Wendover had seldom seen a
man, not actually in immediate physical danger, show
up so badly. The young beggar must be very high-
strung, though one would hardly have expected that
from his normal behaviour. Clean off the rocker with
pure funk, apparently. And it must have been a very
bad attack, considering what he had to lose by it: forty
thousand pounds, and the good opinion of the people
who had seen his exhibition. More, perhaps, if old Peter
were right in his surmises. It must have been an over-
whelming fear that made him give all that up and be
so evidently glad to do it.


NECK OR NOTHING
199
Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. Was it possible
that Harry had got a glimpse of something which had
escaped both him and the Inspector, something which
convinced the youngster that he would be the next on
the list if he stayed in the Syndicate? That might be an
explanation of the business. But it hardly seemed likely,
after all. Harry, in that worked-up state, would have
blurted out anything he had learned, or else gone
straight to the police with his information.
Wendover was roused suddenly from his reflections
by the maid showing Viola Langdale into the room. As
he rose from his chair to greet her, he saw that she was
pale under her make-up, so that the lipstick red of her
lips showed up more brilliantly by contrast. Her eyes
glowed dangerously and two tiny vertical lines furrowed
between her eyebrows betrayed an anger which she was
holding in check only by an effort.
"Sorry," she apologised, offhandedly. "I couldn't
wait, so I got your maid to show me in here at once. I
just want to ask you something. You've been having
a meeting of your Syndicate, haven't you? Has Harry
Thursford backed out?"
Wendover noted her use of the surname. Evidently
things had already come to a crisis in this engagement
of Viola's.
"He has," Wendover admitted, concisely.
"Ah?" Viola did not seem surprised. "And did he
sign some paper or other, to clinch the thing?"
"He did."
"So he meant it," Viola said, more to herself than to
Wendover.
She was silent for a moment, then she added, again
as if to herself:
"Well, I warned him."


200
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Almost instantly she seemed to recover herself and
turned to Wendover with that bright hard smile which
he knew so well. Only, this time, the hardness was accen-
tuated and betrayed the effort which she was making.
"Could you give me an envelope, please?"
Wendover crossed the room and picked one from a
writing-case. As he turned back, he saw her strip off
her engagement-ring.
"Thanks, that will do nicely. And may I borrow your
fountain-pen?"
She scribbled an address on the envelope, slipped the
ring inside, and gummed down the flap.
"Thanks very much," she said mechanically, as she
handed the pen back to Wendover. "Sorry to have
troubled you, but I was rather in a hurry."
"I hope you're not in too much of a hurry . . ." said
Wendover cryptically.
Viola made no pretence of not understanding him.
"Oh, this?" she tapped the envelope. "No, I've had
a night to think over it. And you needn't waste any pity
over me, you know. I'm not losing much by it."
Wendover reflected that if Harry Thursford had
heard that contemptuous estimate, he might have
winced even more than he did under his uncle's epithet.
Viola evidently desired no sympathy. She certainly
made no bid for any, but went off at once, her envelope
in her hand, as though she were leaving after a formal
visit. Wendover accompanied her to the door and
watched her get into her weatherbeaten old car. She
waved to him as she drove off.
"I don't know that I like her any more for it; but
she certainly can keep her upper lip stiff when most
girls would be showing how they felt," Wendover mused
as he went back to his chair.


NECK OR NOTHING
201
It must have cost an effort to keep that stiff upper
lip. True enough, as she had said herself, she was not
losing much so far as Harry Thursford himself was con-
cerned. Some girls might forgive a man for playing the
coward once, but Viola was not that sort. She had too
much steel in her character to be patient with weakness
in a partner. And clearly, from what she said, Harry
had divulged to her beforehand the step he was con-
templating. She had warned him of one result; and he
had persisted, even at the risk of losing her.
It was not only Harry she was losing. As he slunk
out of the Syndicate, he took with him all her visions of
fortune. After the dream of wonderful frocks, furs,
jewels, and Rolls-Royces, Cinderella had waked again
in her worn tweeds and her shabby little car. The
struggle to make ends meet and to keep up appearances
on a pittance would recommence, all the more bitter for
that brief visit to the castle in the air.
Then a recollection of old Peter Thursford's sneer
'crossed Wendover's memory and set his mind working
on a fresh line. Viola had been buying her trousseau.
Probably Harry had arranged to settle a good deal of
capital on her — she was clear-headed enough to have
seen to that. She must have been looking forward to a
fair income of her own as soon as they were married.
And with that income to meet any bills she might run
up on her trousseau, Wendover guessed that she must
have spent lavishly. She would want to make up for all
those years of secondhand evening dresses, silk stock-
ings that were not quite the best, well-worn gloves, and
cheap hats. And now the prospective settlement had
gone into thin air, and the bills would come in, far be-
yond her power to pay.
"She won't get stuck. I'll pay them myself, if she's


202
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
nice to me. She's the sort that knows which side her
bread's buttered," old Peter had said. And the worst of
it was, as Wendover reflected, that old Peter was quite
right. Viola did know which side her bread was buttered.
She was remarkably free from scruples, if Wendover
read her aright. The only thing was that freedom from
scruples didn't imply freedom from fastidiousness; and
old Peter might discover that too, if he grew too enter-
prising.


CHAPTER XIII: THE AFFAIR AT THE
COTTAGE
Viola Langdale's tiny villa, Azalea Cottage, lay on the
outskirts of the village. Beyond it, the byway on which
it stood degenerated into a mere field-track. The house
had been the expiring effort of a builder who had gone
bankrupt before it was completed, and no one else had
taken a site in Speedwell Lane; so Viola was untroubled
by any close neighbours. Such isolation might have had
its disadvantages; and the policeman on night duty had
orders to go down the Lane from time to time and sat-
isfy himself that all was in order.
In theory, these visits should have been paid at irreg-
ular intervals, but Constable Tarporley was a man of
routine. Every night at 9.15 p.m. he made his way
down Speedwell Lane, gossiped for a few minutes with
Viola's maid if she happened to be there, and then, duty
done, went off to other parts of his beat and did not
return again to the Lane until a quarter of an hour after
midnight. From the point of view of burglars, this ar-
rangement was ideal; but burglary was not common in
the district, so no great harm was done by the con-
stable's time-schedule.
On this particular evening, Constable Tarporley had
paid his usual visit at a quarter past nine. As he passed
along the breast-high wall which enclosed the garden, he
glanced over, expecting to see the maid, who usually
chose that hour for watering the rose-beds. It was not
her night out, and he had been looking forward to a few


204 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
minutes' conversation with her. Though not particu-
larly susceptible, the constable was by no means averse
to a chat with a pretty girl as a preliminary to a spell
of lonely night duty.
Tonight, however, there was no neat figure in the
garden, and the roses had evidently been neglected.
Constable Tarporley was distinctly put out by this turn
of events. He had prepared one or two gems of repartee
as he made his way towards the cottage, and he was
loath to miss the chance of using them. It occurred to
him that- Miss Langdale might be at home that evening
and that Ruth Lawton might be shy of gossiping with
him in full view of the sitting-room windows. Miss Lang-
dale was very seldom at home in the evenings, but to-
night might be an exception. Then a stratagem presented
itself to his mind. Why not go up to the door and ask
for a glass of water? It was a warm night, and there
was no harm in the request. Ruth would answer the
bell, and they could have their little chat on the door-
step, out of range of the windows of the drawing-room.
The constable pushed open the gate, walked boldly
up the short curved path, and rang the bell. Getting no
reply, he rang again; but evidently both maid and mis-
tress were out. Mechanically, he tried the front door
and found that the catch of the Yale lock had been
dropped.
More than a little put out, and now, by force of sug-
gestion, feeling genuinely thirsty, the constable turned
away. His eye caught Viola's little motor-shed, which
had a separate approach at the far end of the garden,
and he noticed that the door of it was closed. Usually
Miss Langdale left the shed open when she took the
car out, and if she was not back in the early evening, the
maid closed it before going to bed.


THE AFFAIR AT THE COTTAGE 205
Giving up hope of his chat, Constable Tarporley
walked down the path, closed the little gate behind him,
and set off, in a rather bad temper, to inspect the rest
of his beat.
At a quarter past midnight, true to his schedule, he
was back again at the mouth of Speedwell Lane. The
moon had just set, and the night was a dark one for the
time of year. The footpath in Speedwell Lane was a
bad one, and Constable Tarporley picked his way along
it in a leisurely fashion to avoid stumbling. No lights
showed through the trees from the windows of Azalea
Cottage. True to his routine, the constable moved on
towards the garden gate; but just as he approached it,
he saw against the faint illumination of the sky the loom
of some object partly on the footpath and partly on the
roadway. A second glance revealed it as the roof of a
saloon car.
The vehicle showed no lights, and Constable Tarpor-
ley scented a case. Speedwell Lane was not a highway,
but it was a road to which the public had access, and
therefore no one had any right to leave an unlighted
car on it. Since no light showed in Azalea Cottage, the
car obviously did not belong to one of Miss Langdale's
visitors.
"Some young spark's brought a girl up here and gone
for a walk in the fields beyond," the constable surmised
sourly. "And he's switched off his lights so as not to at-
tract attention. Well, I'll have to have a look at his
license. Whether he turns up or not, I can get him
through the number of his car."
He took a step or two farther forward and then
switched on his flash-lamp to examine the car. But as
his light fell upon it, he started back with a sharp ex-
clamation at the sight which caught his eye in the beam


THE AFFAIR AT THE COTTAGE 207
Tarporley went round to the side of the car, opened
the door, and shook the figure by the shoulder.
"Here, you! Wake up! . . . Why, it's Mr. Falgate!"
Falgate seemed to rouse himself with difficulty. He
stared stupidly in the light of the electric torch, and the
constable noticed that he was trembling slightly.
"Drunk!" was Constable Tarporley's succinct diag-
nosis. "Or else shamming."
He bent forward and sniffed vigorously.
"You've been drinking, Mr. Falgate?"
Falgate made no reply. When the constable's hand
was taken from his shoulder, he had dropped back into
the driving-seat. Tarporley endeavoured to rouse him
by flashing the torch in his eyes, but Falgate paid no
attention to it.
"Well, here's a bit of a business," the constable mused
aloud. "I've got to get assistance somehow — not that
it'll do any good so far as old Thursford's concerned."
It occurred to him to wake up Miss Langdale and
her maid. They could be dispatched to bring help while
he stood guard over Falgate and the body.
"They must be good sleepers if they didn't wake
up with the yell the old man must ha' given when
he got that nip, though," Tarporley reflected. "Rum,
that is."
Leaving Falgate, the constable walked up to the
front door of Azalea Cottage and tried to rouse the in-
mates by knocking; but his efforts were without result,
and he soon came to the conclusion that there was no
one in the house. That, at any rate, explained why Peter
Thursford's cries had attracted no attention. Tarpor-
ley tried the door, out of curiosity, and found it locked
as it had been when he tested it earlier in the evening.
Evidently there was no hope of securing a messenger;


208 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
and as the constable walked back to the car he fell
back on the only other alternative.
"Here! Come out of that!" he ordered; and when
Falgate paid no attention beyond an incoherent mutter-
ing, he hauled him unceremoniously out of the driving
seat on to the road.
Falgate seemed completely dazed, and as soon as
the constable loosened his grip on his coat-collar, he sat
down on the running-board and seemed content to stay
there. It was only with the greatest difficulty that Tar-
porley could get him to move; but at last by supporting
his prisoner he was able to lead him along Speedwell
Lane towards the main road. As they walked, lighted by
the electric torch, the constable noted that Falgate
swayed slightly; and it was only with considerable dif-
ficulty that Tarporley could get him to keep on his feet.
He had all the appearance of an over-tired man who had
not enough reserves left to keep himself under control.
A little distance along the main road was a public
telephone box; and from it the constable was able to
summon reserves. In a short time his reinforcements ar-
rived, followed by an ambulance, in which he took his
prisoner down to the station, while the other constables
picketed Speedwell Lane to prevent any interference
with the scene of the tragedy.
At the station, the names of Falgate and Peter Thurs-
ford had at once suggested the Novem Syndicate in
which it was well known that Inspector Severn was
keenly interested; and a message had been sent to his
house as soon as Tarporley telephoned. The ambulance
had hardly reached the station before Severn himself
appeared.
"You can charge him with being drunk while in
charge of a motor-car," he instructed Tarporley, when


THE AFFAIR AT THE COTTAGE 209
he had heard the constable's tale. "And he's to be
searched before he's put in the cells. After that, I'll go
up to Azalea Cottage with you and you can explain
things on the spot. You can sit on the carrier of my
motorcycle."
Almost before the formalities had been completed,
the police surgeon arrived, very much annoyed at being
dragged from his bed at that hour of the morning.
"Drunk in charge of a motor? Look at him! Anyone
could see he's next door to incapable. You don't need
me to tell you that, do you?"
As his examination proceeded, however, he seemed
less sure of his initial diagnosis.
"What I can't quite make out," he admitted, "is the
state of his eyes. He's been drinking whiskey, and on
that basis his pupils ought to be dilated. They aren't.
They're a bit contracted, instead. They ought to be
sensitive to light. Instead of that, they're a shade below
normal. His breath smells of whiskey, as you say. But
there may be a tang of something else there as well. He's
been doped, perhaps."
"What kind of dope, do you suppose?" Severn asked.
Alloway shook his head doubtfully.
"Ask me another. Not cocaine. Might be morphia;
but morphia's damned hard to come by, these days.
Might be one of these sleeping-draught stuffs, the kind
they put in the sea-sickness cures. I don't know. What-
ever it is, he's unfit to be in charge of a motor-car, and
I take it that that's what you want certified."
Alloway prescribed medical treatment intended to
bring Falgate back to normal as rapidly as possible.
"And now I suppose you want me to go up and see
old Thursford's body?" he inquired. "All right. My
car's outside. Give you a lift, if you want one."


210
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
The Inspector preferred his motorcycle, as he wished
to be sure of transit on the way home, and he knew that
the doctor would want to get away before he himself
had finished his work at Azalea Cottage. Picking up
Constable Tarporley, they took the road to Speedwell
Lane.
When Falgate's car had been pulled away, Alloway
contented himself with a very cursory examination of
Peter Thursford's body.
"He seems pretty well smashed up. Breastbone and
some ribs gone, apparently. Sort of result you might
get if you put a man on the anvil of a steamhammer and
pulled the lever. What's the car? Austin Sixteen-Six, is
it? Weighs about a ton by the look of it, and accelerates
very quick on first speed. Well, if you get a ton-weight
moving at ten miles an hour, you can guess the results
when it squashes a man. No use guessing at the actual
details of the damage till I get a P. M. done."
"How long's he been dead, do you think?" Severn
demanded.
"Two or three hours. Not more. That sort of thing
can't be estimated to a minute. Say three hours, at a
guess. That's fairly safe."
Having completed his work, Alloway climbed into
his car and drove off. Severn proceeded to search the
body, taking the contents of the pockets into his own
charge for future examination. Then, the ambulance
having arrived, the body was put on board it and re-
moved.
The Inspector now found himself faced with a tick-
lish problem. He had no definite proof that the owner
of the Azalea Cottage was even remotely concerned in
that night's tragedy. Still, he did not feel inclined to
assume that Peter Thursford's death at that particular


THE AFFAIR AT THE COTTAGE
211
place was purely fortuitous. Speedwell Lane was not a
place that old Thursford would normally have chosen
for an evening stroll. And in Speedwell Lane, the dead
man's objective must have been Azalea Cottage, for
there was no other house in the byway. Therefore, com-
mon sense suggested, it was advisable to search the
house while it was empty and undisturbed. If the search
was postponed until after the return of Miss Langdale
and the maid, things might get displaced in the mean-
while, either innocently or of set purpose.
The procuring of a search-warrant would take time;
and for all he knew, Miss Langdale might return at any
moment. Instant search was the obvious policy. But
unfortunately, if he entered the house without a war-
rant, he would be no better than a burglar.
"Damn the consequences!" was Severn's final de-
cision.
He entered the garden and began his investigation
at the garage. This had a little window, and by means
of his torch he was able to see that Miss Langdale's car
was not in the shed.
Going round to the back of the villa, he tried the win-
dows and found them all fastened. But the catches were
old-fashioned, and his pocket-knife was sufficient to
slip one of them back and give him entrance into the
kitchen.
There, everything seemed normal: dishes had been
washed up and replaced on the shelves, cloths had been
hung up to dry, the fire had been raked out and re-set
ready for lighting. Here, at least, there were no signs
of a hurried departure. The maid's bedroom told the
same tale.
Severn passed to the drawing-room. Here again things
were undisturbed and he could see nothing which struck


212
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
him as important. The flowers in the vases were fresh
that day, the one-day clock on the mantelpiece was still
going, and Miss Langdale's portable typewriter stood
open on a little desk in one corner of the room. Severn
noted that the curtains were closely drawn; but as the
room faced the afternoon sun, that might have been
merely a precaution against the fading of the carpet and
the loose chair-covers. He ran his eye over the furni-
ture: two or three easy-chairs, the nest of three tables,
several ash-trays, one of which showed signs of having
been used, the wireless set, the few volumes in a book-
rack, and the folding tea-table stacked in one corner.
Then his glance fell on the one disturbed feature in the
room: a big chesterfield on which the cushions still bore
the impress of someone who had apparently lain down.
The dining-room, to which Severn passed next, was
perfectly normal. Here the curtains had not been drawn;
but as its windows faced the morning sun, there was
nothing in that.
Severn went upstairs and opened the door of what
was obviously a spare bedroom from which he learned
nothing. Next to that was another room, apparently be-
longing to Miss Langdale herself. The bed was made up
and undisturbed; but when the Inspector's eye lighted
on the dressing-table he noted that hair-brushes, hand-
mirror, combs, and manicure appliances were all miss-
ing. Quite obviously, Miss Langdale had not intended
to return that night.
The rest of the house suggested nothing to him and
he descended the stair again. At the foot of it, a door
caught his eye which he had overlooked before, and on
opening it, he found himself in a small pantry contain-
ing a store of china, glass, and drawers for knives and
forks. It evidently served also as Miss Langdale's mod-


THE AFFAIR AT THE COTTAGE
213
est substitute for a wine-cellar. Severn noted a tantalus
with a couple of square whiskey decanters, one of them
half-full, which he supposed she kept for her male
guests. An incomplete dozen of soda-water pointed to
the same conclusion. Vermouth, some liqueurs, and a
cocktail shaker completed the catalogue.
The Inspector let himself out of the house as he had
entered it, leaving the catch of the window unfastened.
So far as he could see, all that he had learned was that
the maid's departure had been foreseen and that Miss
Langdale herself had gone away for a day or two,
whether suddenly or not he could not tell.


216
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Falgate sighed rather wearily, but he made no ob-
jection. Severn pulled a sheet of paper towards him and
prepared to make notes.
"I took out my car at a quarter past nine," Falgate
began. "It was broad daylight then. I hadn't the lamps
lit since it was long before lighting-up time. I could see
perfectly well. I'm sure I hit nobody on the way up. I'm
dead sure of that, so there must be some mistake. No-
body stopped me. I went straight up to Speedwell Lane.
When I got to the gate of Azalea Cottage, I parked the
car. I didn't switch on the lamps, because it was still day-
light."
"What time was that?" Severn interrupted.
"That would be a little before half-past nine. Miss
Langdale asked me to be there at half-past, and I re-
member looking at the clock on the dashboard and seeing
that I was a minute or two before my time."
"You're quite sure about that?" Severn interjected.
"I want to test your memory on details."
"I'm quite sure about it," Falgate answered without
heat. "Then I went into the house. . . ."
"Miss Langdale let you in? Or was it the maid?"
Falgate seemed slightly confused.
"Neither of them. Miss Langdale had given me a key
of the Yale on the front door."
"When did she give you that?"
"In a letter she sent me, making the appointment.
I've got the letter in my pocket."
Falgate made a gesture to take the letter out, but the
Inspector stopped him, as though the point was of no in-
terest. It seemed Falgate had forgotten that he had been
searched when he was brought in. Probably he had then
been too dazed to know what was going on.
"I went into the drawing-room. I know the house


THE LETTERS
217
quite well. Miss Langdale said in her letter that she
might be out when I arrived and that I was to wait for
her." .
"Did you see the maid?"
"No. The maid must have been out, or else she would
have been able to let me in, wouldn't she? I took it that
she must be out, since the Yale key was sent in the
letter."
"Go on," the Inspector said, as though conceding the
point.
"I went into the drawing-room. There was a folding
table, a sort of tea-table, right in front of the door in the
middle of the room, with a whiskey decanter, a bottle of
soda, and a glass on it. I saw a note on it."
"What sort of note?"
"Just a sheet of paper with some typewriting. Miss
Langdale hardly ever writes anything with a pen, you
know."
"What did the note say?"
"Oh, it was just a scrap to tell me that she might have
to keep me waiting longer than she expected, and saying
she'd left the whiskey in case I wanted a drink."
"What sort of decanter was it?" Severn demanded
sharply.
Falgate looked startled at the Inspector's sudden
query. He hesitated for a second or two before answer-
ing.
"Oh, it was ... I don't quite know how to describe
it. One of these pot-bellied things, you know, rather like
a bedroom water-jug but with a stopper. That's the
nearest I can get to it. It had some sort of pattern on
it, I think, but I can't remember what the pattern was
like. I didn't look at it particularly. I poured out some
whiskey. . . ."


THE LETTERS
219
Suddenly the Inspector saw an expression of dismay
appear in his prisoner's eyes.
"Have I had one of these loss-of-memory turns? The
things you hear about in the S.O.S. messages on the wire-
less? I've had a devilish lot of worry in business lately."
He paused, apparently appalled by a new possibil-
ity.
"Have I been running amuck and killed somebody
without knowing anything about what I was doing? I
don't remember a thing about it, not a thing. Do you
think one could do that in one of these fits — aphasia,
isn't it? Good God, man! That's awful!"
This suggestion was equally new to the Inspector, but
he put it aside for the moment until he had time to think
out its bearings.
"Let's get the facts first," he said, soothingly. "When
you were at Azalea Cottage, did you see Miss Langdale?
Try to remember that."
The commonplace tone seemed to quieten Falgate.
"No," he said, "I don't remember seeing her. The last
thing I can recall is sitting down on the chesterfield in
her drawing-room to wait for her. I don't remember her
coming in."
The Inspector picked up a sheet of notepaper and
pushed it across to Falgate.
"Just cast your eye over that and tell me if it's the
letter you got from Miss Langdale."
Falgate read the first sentence or two and then gave
an affirmative nod.
"Yes, that's it. How do you come to get hold of it?"
"It was in your pocket when you were brought in,"
Severn explained. "You're sure that's the note you got?"
Falgate glanced again at it, cursorily, and nodded
again.


220 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"I'll just read it over to you, to be on the safe side,"
Severn decided.
He picked up the letter and read as follows:—
Dear Jim, •
I know I treated you badly and have no right to expect you
to help me. But I am in a dreadful position and I feel sure
that for the sake of old times you won't refuse to do some-
thing for me when you know how hard I am pressed.
I cannot explain it on paper. Would you drive over here
and see me tonight at 10.30 p. m.? I have to go out and
can't be sure of being back exactly at that time but I en-
close the key of the front door. The maid will be out. Please
come in and wait for me.
I can't tell you how grateful I shall be if you will only
come. I must see you, even if you can't do anything to help.
Viola
Falgate listened carefully as the Inspector read. At
one point he seemed prepared to interrupt, but Severn
stopped him with a gesture and finished the document
before allowing him to speak.
"That's the letter," Falgate admitted. "But you made
a mistake in your reading. You said '10.30 p.m.' It's
'9.30 p. m.'"
Severn made a pretence of consulting the paper.
"It says '10.30 p. m.' here. Look for yourself."
He held the paper out to Falgate and watched the look
of surprise which passed over his prisoner's face as he
saw the actual figures.
"Never mind. It's a detail," he said hastily. "Now
what about this key she mentions? What became of it?"
Falgate seemed rather taken aback by this question.


222 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Reach here at 11.30 p. m. I have let my maid off tonight
to stay with friends. I rely on you to be careful.
V. Langdale
Severn put the letter down again and began to turn
Falgate's case over in his mind. Was the man simply
shamming? Or, if he were not shamming, was it a case of
temporary aphasia or of dope? Suppose one killed a man
while one was suffering from loss of memory, would one
be responsible? Or would one be reckoned as temporarily
insane at the moment of the crime? Or again, suppose
someone drugs a man and under the influence of the drug
that man commits a crime, what is the legal position?
The Inspector could recall nothing which fitted these
cases.
How much, if any, of Falgate's story was true? That
was the root of the whole affair, obviously, though even
when one had got that length there would still be much
requiring investigation.
Three points in Falgate's narrative excited especial
suspicion in Severn's mind. First, he had given the time
of his arrival at Azalea Cottage as half-past nine o'clock,
whereas in Viola Langdale's letter the appointment was
made for an hour later. When Falgate's attention had
been drawn to the discrepancy, he had been most ob-
viously taken aback. Then again, there was the mis-
laying of the Yale key. And, finally, came the fact that
Falgate had given an impossibly erroneous description
of the whiskey decanter. Severn had seen Viola's de-
canters: square-faced things which no one could con-
fuse with "a bedroom water-bottle" by any possibility.
Besides, he now remembered, the tantalus in Viola's
pantry had been locked, probably to guard against her
maid's visitors being tempted by its contents.


THE LETTERS
225
Then, ranging back over the three tragedies, he was
struck by a point which had never occurred to him
before. In none of the cases was any physical strength
required. It needs no force to push a man over a cliff
when you come upon him unexpectedly. That was Will-
enhall's case. Then in Coniston's smash, if that was foul
play, no physical force had been used. Something subtler
had been at work. And, as he now recalled, Viola Lang-
dale had driven off from the Thursfords' house just be-
fore Coniston started on his last drive. Finally, here was
old Peter's death, and this time the physical force was
supplied by the machine. A girl's hand might have
launched the mechanical battering-ram which crushed
old Thursford like a nut between hammer and anvil.
Nothing messy about it, either, like hitting a man on the
head with a poker, or anything of that sort. Just the
kind of murder one could do in kid gloves — and never
have to look at the result of what one had done. After
that, if she had doped Falgate, she could lead him out to
take her place at the wheel, and then clear off in her
own car so as to avoid being called as a witness. Nobody
knew when she had gone away. But Severn himself had
good reason to suspect that she had been all ready to go,
with everything packed up in advance. There had been
no sign of haste in that bedroom.
A final sinister detail fitted itself into the pattern, a
phrase from her letter. "Bring the money in notes as I
cannot have a cheque passing through my account, ob-
viously." On one interpretation, the reason was plain
enough: no girl would want to pass a big cheque from
Peter Thursford through her banking account. But there
was a second interpretation. No bank will honour a
dead man's cheque. And no packet of notes had been
found when old Thursford's body was searched. Nor


226
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
were they in Falgate's possession when his pockets were
emptied. Falgate could not have known about them un-
less Viola Langdale had told him.
"This is getting to be a damned complicated business,"
the Inspector confessed ruefully to himself, as he con-
templated the results of his own imagination.
Obviously the only thing which connected Viola Lang-
dale directly with the tragedy was that typewritten letter
to Peter Thursford. It was essential to prove that it had
been typed on her machine. That meant another visit to
Azalea Cottage; and this time things would have to be
done more formally. He would have to get a search-
warrant. Any excuse would do now: the Offences against
the Person Act would serve — administering a drug with
intent to commit any indictable offence. And he would
have to get hold of that maidservant and find out when
she left the Cottage, as well as anything else she had to
tell.
He glanced at his watch and found that he would have
time to snatch a short sleep before intruding on some
magistrate at breakfast in the matter of the search-
warrant. Closing his desk, he was preparing to leave,
when a constable stopped him.
"I rang up Mr. Thursford's house, as you told me to,
and tried to get hold of Mr. Harry Thursford; but he'd
gone out earlier in the evening. He'd told his sister — it
was Miss Thursford answered the 'phone — that he was
going to Mr. Mackworth's. He'd promised to go there to
listen to Mr. Mackworth's short-wave set and didn't
expect to be home till three or four o'clock this morning.
I rang up Mr. Mackworth's and got Mr. Harry Thurs-
ford on the phone and told him what had happened. He
wanted to know if he could do anything, but I gave him


THE LETTERS
227
your message. You can see him and his sister any time
you like after breakfast."
Severn gave one or two orders and then went home to
snatch what sleep he could until the time came for his
next moves.


Severn's busy morning
229
such a box would be on the premises. Better support of
his story was a single State Express stub in one of the
ash-trays.
Severn carried out a minute search for the decanter
which Falgate described, but nothing of the sort was to
be found on the premises. The decanters in the locked
tantalus could not by any stretch of imagination be sup-
posed to correspond to the description which Falgate had
supplied.
Search for the missing Yale key was equally fruitless.
The Inspector then turned to Viola's portable type-
writer, an Underwood machine. Rather to his disap-
pointment, the keys yielded no signs of finger-prints.
Evidently the machine had been cleaned up since it was
last in use.
Severn took a sheet of paper and made impressions
of all the characters on the machine, taking care to pro-
vide himself with several complete sets for comparison
purposes. He also examined the stores of typewriting
paper and removed sample sheets of each kind that
he found. Among them he found a packet with the
embossed address: Azalea Cottage, which corre-
sponded exactly to the paper on which the letters to Fal-
gate and Peter Thursford had been typed.
Another visit to the bedroom upstairs satisfied him
that Viola's departure had been no hurried flight but a
prearranged affair. He looked in vain, both there and in
the bathroom, for toothbrush, toothpaste, bath-sponge,
safety razor, or any other toilette accessories which
might easily have been overlooked in a hasty packing-up.
Bedroom slippers and dressing-gown were also absent.
Everything pointed to things having been done in a
leisurely fashion quite different from a last-moment
rush.


230
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Satisfied at last that he had made his search a thor-
ough one and that nothing useful had been overlooked,
he quitted the villa again, leaving the constable on
guard.
The Thursfords' house was his next objective, and
there he asked to see Harry Thursford. When he was
shown in the morning-room, however, he found Enid
Thursford there also. Neither of them showed any signs
of affliction at the death of their uncle. If they had any
emotion, it was evidently relief that they were at last
free from that personality which had been a daily irri-
tation to them. The Inspector, who had a shrewd idea
of what life had been under Peter's regime, wasted no
time in cheap sympathy, but plunged immediately into
business.
"Did either of you see Mr. Thursford at dinner last
night?" he asked, by way of opening his inquiry with
something definite.
"We both saw him then," Harry answered shortly.
"One of us had always to stay and dine with him,"
Enid explained. "He wouldn't be left alone. Last night,
as it happened, we were both here."
The Inspector hesitated for a moment, with a glance
at the girl.
"Did he drink more than usual at dinner?" he asked,
with a faint hesitation.
Evidently he might have spared his pains. It was Enid
who replied.
"Rather less than usual, if anything. He wasn't
drunk."
There was no mistaking the scorn in the tone. The im-
plication was that usually Peter had got up from the
table rather the worse of liquor.
"After dinner, can you remember what happened?"


Severn's busy morning
231
"Immediately after dinner, I went out to a friend's
house — Miss Hathern's. Perhaps you saw more of him,
Harry?"
"He was in the smoking-room till ten o'clock," Harry
took up the tale. "I happened to go in there to fill my
case, and he was sitting at the window. He said nothing
to me then. I went up to my own room and while I was
up there, I heard the front door slam. I looked out of
my window and saw him walking down the drive. That
was the last I saw of him."
"You have two cars, haven't you?" the Inspector
asked.
Enid nodded.
"Yes, we've a two-seater — I took that to go to Miss
Hathern's — and an Austin Sixteen-Six."
"Then Mr. Thursford didn't take the saloon, did he?"
"No," Harry explained. "I don't know why he didn't,
but he left it in the garage. As a matter of fact, that's
why I looked out to see him go. I'd promised Mr. Mack-
worth to go across and sit up with him to listen to Amer-
ica on his set, and I wanted to know whether my uncle
had taken the car or not. If he had, I'd have had to
walk over to Mr. Mackworth's and I wasn't very keen
on that. It's a longish walk, especially when one comes
home at three or four in the morning."
"When did you get to Mr. Mackworth's?" the In-
spector asked casually.
"Just before eleven o'clock. The phone message from
the police station caught me there about three in the
morning, just as we were thinking of shutting down for
the night."
"There's one point I'd rather like to know about, but
perhaps you can't tell me anything to help," Severn ex-
plained, turning to another subject. "Can you remember


Severn's busy mokking
233
was how much he knew and how much she could sup-
press without actually lying.
"It was a sort of squarish-oblong envelope, rather
bigger than ordinary note-paper size. About five inches
by four, I should say. It was bluish paper."
Exactly the same as one of the samples he had taken
from Viola Langdale's store, the Inspector recognised
gleefully. Then a possible reason for Enid's hesitation
occurred to him. She was a friend of Viola's. She must
have recognised the envelope perfectly well, as it was
the kind that Viola evidently used in her correspond-
ence. Given the fact that Harry's engagement had just
been broken off, and also her knowledge of her uncle's
character, it was reasonable enough to suppose that she
would hedge on the subject of that letter. She might be
loyal to her friend and anxious to keep Viola's name out
of the affair as far as possible; or she might merely be
concerned to do as little dirty-linen washing in public
as possible. He had got what he wanted, and there was
no need to push the matter further, except for one
point.
"Did you see your uncle open that letter, Miss Thurs-
ford?"
"Yes, he opened it immediately I gave it to him."
"He expected it, perhaps?"
"I don't know whether he expected it or not. He didn't
seem surprised at getting a letter. Why should he be?"
"Well," said the Inspector bluntly, determined to get
at the facts. "Did he seem pleased with it when he
read it?"
"How should I know?"
But the Inspector was paying attention to her face
rather than to her voice, and it was plain enough that he
had hit the bull's-eye. Peter had been pleased. And that


234
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
fairly identified the letter as the one found in his pocket-
book after his death.
"You haven't the envelope, I suppose? Or the letter
itself?"
"No. Our maids are given orders to collect anything
of that sort at once when they see it and put it in the
kitchen fire. The envelope, I mean. My uncle put the
letter in his pocket after he'd read it."
"What did your uncle do after lunch, can you tell me?"
"He went to the bank, I believe." Enid explained. "He
mentioned at lunch that he was going there; and after
lunch he took out the Austin and went off in it. When
he came back again, I saw him counting a packet of
notes. He had tea with me at five o'clock, and after that
he went up to his own room — for a nap, I expect. When
I saw him again, he was dressed for dinner."
From her manner, Severn inferred that she attached
little importance to the notes; and from this he guessed
that she had no idea of the contents of the letter.
"When did you get home from Miss Hathern's?" he
asked.
"Oh, I don't know exactly. Shortly after midnight, I
should think. I didn't leave her house till close on twelve
o'clock, I know. I was in bed and asleep by the time your
telephone message came."
The Inspector pondered for a moment or two, trying
to recall any point he had missed, but he could think of
nothing.
"I don't want to have to bother you again," he said,
apologetically. "There may be some other matters, but
. . . Who was your uncle's lawyer? He would be able
to tell me about the business side of things, if I happen
to want anything of that sort."
"Mr. Roade was my uncle's solicitor," Harry Thurs-


Severn's busy morning
235
ford answered. "He'll know about all that side of things,
I expect. My sister and I are trustees — so my uncle
told us. You see we're all that's left of the family."
The Inspector had now got as much as he expected.
He had confirmed his other evidence more strongly than
he had hoped; and there seemed no point in worrying
his two witnesses further. He got them to put their sig-
natures to his notes, and then took his departure.
As he walked down the drive to his motorcycle, he
thought over the personality of the late Peter Thurs-
ford. Severn was not a sentimental man, but even his
insensitive feelings had sensed the atmosphere in that
house. A man must have been more than usually dis-
agreeable when his two remaining relatives felt nothing
but a relief at his disappearance. An alcoholic petty
tyrant — he recalled what Enid Thursford had said
about the old man's insistence on company at dinner —
must have been a constant irritation. On Harry Thurs-
ford, Severn wasted little sympathy. That resignation
from the Syndicate was common property by now, and
Severn felt only contempt for a youngster who with a
prize of £40,000 at stake, had cracked under the strain.
The Inspector would have been only too glad to run the
risk at that price. And, as he reflected, Harry Thurs-
ford must have been rather a poor type if he preferred
to put up with his uncle instead of going off and making
his own way in the world. It would need a very keen
sense of the main chance to keep a man in these leading-
strings. Enid Thursford's case was different. An un-
trained girl could hardly get a living in these days; and
she simply had to stand her uncle as best she could. But
even the unimaginative Severn could see what hatred
and contempt any decent girl must have had for old
Peter. She could hardly be expected to shed many tears


Severn's busy morning
237
her own views. "Has he been much about the house
lately? Since the engagement was broken off, I mean."
"He's been round every day, sometimes twice a day.
A perfect pest, he's been, I can tell you. 'Not at home,'
I'd say every time. Once he wouldn't take no for an
answer. He just pushed past me into the drawing-room.
Much good it did him! She'd gone out earlier in the after-
noon. But do you think that satisfied him? Not a bit of
it! He'd got in, and he stayed on there, waiting for her
to come back. I knew she'd gone to play tennis and
wouldn't be back for hours, so I just let him sit. I had my
tea and went into the garden at the back to have a read.
I never expected he'd stay that long; but he hung on
until Miss Langdale came back. I told her about it, and
she went into the drawing-room with her racquet in her
hand. She was flushed a bit, and she looked just lovely."
"Yes?" interjected Severn, surmising that there was
more to come.
"Much good he got by it! Miss Langdale's a perfect
lady, but when she gets angry, she gets cooler and cooler,
and she can say things fit to cut you to the bone, if you've
got any feelings at all."
"I suppose the door was left open when you heard
all this?"
"I didn't need to go listening at keyholes, if that's
what you're kindly hinting at, Mister. I was in the gar-
den and the drawing-room window was open. You could
have heard him fifty yards away or further, and she's
got one of these clear voices that don't need raising to
make themselves heard. I didn't cock my ears to listen,
but I couldn't help hearing."
"I suppose he wanted Miss Langdale to get engaged
to him again?"
"You'd have thought so," said the maid, pertly. "And


Severn's busy morning
239
morning, she gave me some money and told me to go to
my friends here until she sent for me again. She did
some packing in the morning — just a suit-case. And
after lunch was over, she ran me down in her car to save
me carrying my suit-case."
"She gave you no address?"
"No. If I didn't know it, I couldn't tell it. Not that I'd
have given it away to Thursford. She needn't have been
afraid of that."
"Had you a key of the house?"
"No. Miss Langdale asked me for mine — there are
two — and I fetched it to her from where it usually lies
on the salver on the hall table. She took it with her, I
expect, just in case her own went a-missing. She once
lost her keys and we had to get a fresh lock put in; and
since then she's been extra particular about keys."
The Inspector thought for a moment before putting
his next questions.
"Did Mr. Falgate ever come about the house?"
The maid shook her head.
"Not in my time."
"Or Mr. Redhill?"
"Mr. Redhill's been up once or twice. Not a regular
visitor, though."
"Mr. Checkley?"
"Mr. Checkley's been up several times, at bridge-
parties, and that sort of thing. More like an acquaintance
than a friend, I'd say Mr. Checkley was."
"And Mr. Peter Thursford?"
"Him that's dead? No, I never opened the door to
him in my life."
"Mr. Wendover?"
"He comes about once in a blue moon. I haven't seen
him for months. Now Mr. Wendover's a real gentleman,


240
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
if you like. Always so polite and got a sort of way with
him, if you know what I mean."
The Inspector switched off to a fresh subject.
"Do you keep track of your empty bottles? Soda, and
such-like?"
The maid stared at him in some surprise.
"Oh, I see what you mean. Do I know how many emp-
ties we've got just now? No, I don't."
"Talking of bottles," the Inspector said carelessly, as
though the idea had just crossed his mind, "a friend of
mine was telling me about a decanter he saw in a sales-
room the other day that was very valuable. A rounded
thing, shaped something like this, he said." (Severn made
an illustrative gesture with his finger in the air.) "Any-
thing like that amongst your crystal at the Cottage by
any chance? It might be worth a lot of money."
The maid shook her head decidedly.
"We've got nothing of that sort. Square-sided, ours
are. The kind that fit into a tantalus."
After getting the maid to put her signature to his
notes, which she did suspiciously and with marked re-
luctance, the Inspector took leave of her and went back
to the police station.
Here he found awaiting him a number of reports for
which he had asked, and among them was one stating
that no tyre-marks had been detected in Speedwell Lane.
The dry weather and the rough road-surface had al-
lowed cars to come and go without leaving a trace; and
even Falgate's car had left no print.
On his desk, Severn found a letter from the Chief
Constable asking him to forward immediately complete
reports of the proceedings at the inquests, copies of his
own notes and of witnesses' statements, prints of Willen-
hall's photographs and his own, with the corresponding


Severn's busy morning
241
films, photographs of all the documentary evidence, and,
if possible, the latest album in which Willenhall stored
his negatives.
"Phew!" the Inspector said to himself as he read over
the list. "If he's going to take a hand in the business, I'll
have to hurry up in case he gets ahead of me at the last
moment."
But he was not actually perturbed. The reports which
had just come in dealt with the question of alibis, and as
he glanced through them he had seen his case clarifying
very considerably.
He decided to charge Falgate with manslaughter and
to arrange that bail should be refused. If Falgate were
the murderer, then with him under lock and key, there
could be no further crimes. If, on the other hand, the
murderer was not Falgate but another member of the
Syndicate, the risk of a fresh murder would be too big
for him to take, since only Redhill, Checkley, and
Wendover were left on the list of free agents, and
Wendover was obviously out of the question. That left
only the mysterious Mr. ABCD in play; but Severn
was beginning to think that he knew something about the
identity of that individual.
Following on what he had said to the maid, the In-
spector paid a further visit to Azalea Cottage and ex-
amined the store of empty soda-water bottles for traces
of Falgate's fingerprints. Not altogether to his surprise,
he found nothing to correspond with the prints which his
prisoner had allowed him to take.


CHAPTER XVI: THE ALIBI PROBLEM
When he made a fresh appointment with Wendover at
the Grange that evening, Severn had two objects in
view. In the first place, he wanted to test the convincing-
ness of his own arguments on someone, so as to discover
if he had overlooked any weak points. Wendover had a
soundly critical mind, he knew; and the Inspector had
no fear that anything which he said in confidence would
be gossiped abroad. Wendover could be relied on to keep
his mouth shut. In the second place, the Inspector was
anxious to know how much time he had in hand. Quite
obviously, the Chief Constable was taking a direct in-
terest in local affairs, since he had asked for all the docu-
ments. He might descend in person at any moment. But
if he came, he would certainly stay with Wendover at
the Grange; and Severn hoped to learn if any suggestion
of the sort had been made.
He had not even the trouble of fishing for this informa-
tion. He had hardly sat down before Wendover gave it
to him unasked.
"I've had a wire from Sir Clinton," he said, knowing
that the news would interest the Inspector. "He's com-
ing down to stay with me over the week-end."
"This week-end?" Severn demanded, taken aback by
the proximity of the Chief Constable's arrival.
Wendover had little difficulty in reading what was in
the Inspector's mind, but he was too tactful to make a
direct reference to it.


THE ALIBI PROBLEM
243
"You're bringing a charge of manslaughter against
Mr. Falgate, I hear," he said, as though turning to a
fresh subject. "Well, naturally that's not triable at the
sessions, so I've no more to do with it than the man in the
street. In any case, I'd have kept off the Bench on ac-
count of my connection with the Syndicate."
Severn made a slight gesture of agreement.
"That's one reason why I came to see you," he ex-
plained. "I knew you'd have nothing to do with the af-
fair, so there's no harm in discussing it with you. I'd like
a plain opinion, in confidence of course, about the bear-
ing of some evidence that I've collected."
"You want to try it on the dog before trying it on the
jury?" Wendover suggested in a slightly ironical tone.
He was obviously torn between the desire to exercise
his detective powers and a doubt whether he should take
any part in the matter at all.
"Well, it won't do any harm to listen," Severn pointed
out. "And if you find a flaw in the business, then it's all
the better for everybody, isn't it? It would save some-
body a lot of unpleasantness and keep me from putting
my foot in it in public," he added candidly.
"There's something in that," Wendover admitted, as
he pushed the whiskey decanter towards the Inspector.
"Go ahead, then. It's strictly in confidence and quite
informal, I understand."
Severn nodded and, after pouring out some whiskey
and soda, he produced from a capacious pocket a mass
of papers, which he spread out on the table between
them.
"One feature of this business, from start to finish," he
began, "is that all the documents concerned in it have
been typewritten. There are six of them: that first
threatening letter that your Syndicate members re-


244
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
ceived; a letter from Willenhall to Harry Thursford
fixing an appointment on the morning of the affair up at
the Gape; a letter from Willenhall to Checkley about
that recipe for a sweetmeat; the second threatening let-
ter; a letter from Miss Langdale to Falgate; and a letter
from her to Peter Thursford. I've got the whole lot of
them here.
"Now it struck me, as it would have struck anyone,
that something might be got by identifying the machines
on which these letters were written — the individual ma-
chines, I mean. It didn't look very hopeful in some cases;
but one might as well be thorough when one was at it,
I thought. So I set about it; and, as it turned out, I
happened to strike it lucky."
"How did you tackle the business?" inquired Wen-
dover, who took an interest in such details.
"Well, the first thing obviously was to find out what I
could about typewriters belonging to people in that
Syndicate of yours. One must make a start somewhere,
and that would at least clear the ground. I didn't go and
ask to see the machines, of course. That might have
caused trouble, and besides it'd have given the show
away at once. So I had to go about it indirectly."
Severn took a sip from his glass before exposing his
method.
"I've got a good few acquaintances scattered up and
down the country, and amongst them I picked out a set
that I could trust and that wouldn't ask questions. Un-
der my instructions, Mr. Brown (we'll say) would write
from Middlesborough to Falgate and ask him to quote a
wholesale price for some artificial silk fabric, with a lot
of questions about quality and guarantee and so forth —
anything that would draw a longish reply. At the same
time Mrs. Brown would write to Checkley asking for


THE ALIBI PROBLEM
247
had stood in her way after all. She had struck her bar-
gain with old Thursford — "bring the money in notes"
— just as the old blackguard had expected that she
would. It was like her — in some ways. And yet Wen-
dover, with his rather chivalrous outlook on women, was
deeply shocked by the transaction. Surely a girl could
have found some easier way out of her difficulties than
that.
Then a thought struck him. He picked up the letter to
Falgate and compared the times of the two appoint-
ments: Falgate at 10.30 p. m., old Thursford at 11.30
p. m. Evidently she had tried Falgate first; and if he
had helped her, old Peter would have found the door
shut in his face an hour later.
Wendover had no great liking for Viola Langdale, but
at the thought of Peter Thursford he felt an almost phys-
ical discomfort. How could any decent girl touch a
thing like that?
His interest in the Inspector's case-building was
quenched; but Severn gave him no time to think out any
further implications of the two letters. Breaking in on
Wendover's brief brown study, the Inspector pushed
across a fresh document.
"That's the letter from Willenhall to Harry Thurs-
ford, making the appointment for their walk to the
Maiden's Well," he explained. "And here's a letter
from Mr. Halstead, written on the same Corona type-
writer. Mr. Willenhall must have used Mr. Halstead's
machine when he wrote to Harry Thursford. There's no
doubt about it being the same machine. If you look at
the 'W's in 'Well' and 'way' and 'Crowland' and 'well'
in Willenhall's letter, you'll find that in each case the
left side of the 'W is heavier printed than the right-
hand side. That means that the type is 'off its feet' as


THE ALIBI PROBLEM
249
she applied to some decent person, if she was in such a
corner? Why have gone to Peter Thursford of all people?
And he tried to evade the answer which suggested itself
at once: "Because old Thursford would pay up hand-
somely on the spot and be glad to do it."
"This is a specimen of work done by Redhill's type-
writer," the Inspector explained perfunctorily. "It's a
Royal. I'm showing it to you merely for the sake of
completeness, for it doesn't correspond to any of the
documents."
He handed the paper over. Wendover stared at it with
unseeing eyes for a moment; then, realising that his
abstraction was impolite, he pulled himself together.
"Now I'm coming to the most important points of all,"
said Severn with a touch of asperity in his tone. "Here's
your copy of the first threatening letter which was sent
to the members of your Syndicate. It was written on a
Remington; the tails of the 'y' 's and the hook of the
'j' are the easiest points to go for in that identification.
Here's the second threatening letter. Same thing: Rem-
ington again. Here's a specimen of the Remington's
work — a letter from their head office in London. You
see the same characteristics there."
Wendover's politeness now made him, if anything,
over-eager to pay attention to what the Inspector was
saying.
"What I want you to look at specially in these next
specimens," Severn went on, having assured himself that
he was being followed with attention, "is the shift-key
work. You know what I mean? The key that lifts the
carriage so that a line of capitals is printed instead of a
set of small letters. Well, suppose that goes slightly out
of adjustment, what's the result? Your capitals will all
be just a shade higher or lower than your ordinary let-


250
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
ters. The same result would come about if an operator
had a habit of not pressing down the shift-key to the
full when he worked it. You see that?"
Wendover nodded without saying anything.
"Now look at the two threatening letters," Severn
directed. "You see that whenever there's a capital, it's
just the merest shade out of alignment. You'll notice it
quite readily in 'The' and 'This' and 'That's' at the start
of paragraphs in the two letters. The bottom bar of the
'T' isn't in exact alignment with the two bottom bars at
the feet of the legs of the 'h.'"
Wendover examined the specimens carefully.
"It's a very minute difference," he objected.
Severn produced another set of exhibits from his
pocket.
"Here are some very much enlarged photographs I've
made of the two letters," he explained as he laid them
out on the table. "It's plain enough in them. And I
think you'll see that in each case the error of the ma-
chine is exactly the same. I've made some measurements
on these enlargements, and the two sets tally precisely.
There's not the least doubt in my mind that these two
letters come from the same Remington machine."
"I don't see much in that," Wendover objected,
testily. "If you'd told me they came from two different
Remingtons, then I'd have been surprised."
"Just a moment," the Inspector begged. "While
you've got your eye in, I want you to look at this other
set of photographs showing the same combination 'th.'
Now are these from the same machine as the others,
or from a different Remington?"
Wendover scanned the various specimens closely for
a long time. He did not wish to run the risk of making
a slip and disgracing himself in Severn's eyes.


THE ALIBI PROBLEM
251
"They're all from the same machine," he pronounced
at length. "No one could mistake it — if this test of
yours is sound, of course."
"Here's a fourth specimen," Severn said, pushing an-
other photograph over. "Same or different?"
"Identical, undoubtedly," Wendover decided, after a
prolonged examination.
"Yes, identical, as you say," said the Inspector,
grimly. "I've no doubts about it. And now I'll tell you
where these specimens came from."
He arranged the four photographic enlargements in
line.
"This one was taken from the first threatening letter.
That one I photographed from threatening letter No.
2. And now this third one is part of a letter we drew
from Checkley by our inquiries."
"Checkley? You mean Checkley was the author of
these threatening letters?"
The Inspector wanted his main surprise to break on
Wendover immediately, so he ignored the interruption.
He put his finger on the fourth print.
"And this last one. / took that from the letter Check-
ley said he got from Willenhall, the letter making that
appointment at Brookman's Farm on the day that Will-
enhall was killed at Hell's Gape."
Wendover started in his chair.
"The devil you did!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean
to say that Checkley typed a letter inviting himself to
meet Willenhall that morning, and pretended at the in-
quest that he'd got it from Willenhall?"
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" Severn pointed out. "I
don't see how you can explain it any other way. You
identified the thing yourself, and I was careful not to
give you any information that might bias you. The


THE ALIBI PROBLEM
253
ment, they fairly stare at you. A child couldn't miss
them."
Wendover studied the two prints in silence for a time,
paying particular attention to the points to which Severn
had drawn his attention. In the enlargement, the spots
where the forger had arrested his pen while he studied
the ensuing part of the curve were plain enough.
"Here's something else," he pointed out as he glanced
up at last. "If you look at the point here, where Willen-
hall's signature shows a thick line, I think you'll see
that the forger had to go over his work twice. His first
attempt wasn't thick enough to match and he had to
make a second run-over to broaden out the line."
The Inspector agreed, evidently pleased to find that
Wendover had been able to detect evidence of his own
to satisfy him.
"There was one thing in these threatening letters that
set me thinking," he pointed out. "In fact, it was that
that made me tackle the whole identification question
thoroughly. If you look at both of them, you'll see that
the money's described in both words and figures. It's
'ten thousand pounds' and then in brackets and figures
'(£10,000).' That disposed straight off of the idea that
these letters were a mere kid's joke. The phrasing looked
as if it was meant to suggest a kid's joke, but when you
. get sums of money in both words and figures, no kid ever
thought of that. That's a business man's way of doing
things. It's second nature with some business men to
do that; and here it slipped out quite unconsciously."
"And in the case of a man who thinks a lot about
money, it would be more apt to slip out; is that what
you mean?"
"Well, Mr. Checkley's mind runs a bit on money,
doesn't it?"


THE ALIBI PROBLEM
257
This was news to Wendover. Severn gave him no time
to comment on it, however.
"But Checkley didn't commit either of the other mur-
ders," he went on. "Therefore, somebody else must
have been mixed up in them. And that somebody will
have no alibi in Coniston's case and Peter Thursford's
case. Only two people on the list fit these conditions:
Falgate and Miss Langdale."
Wendover cast back to a point which he had left
aside at the moment it first occurred to him.
"Because a person hasn't an alibi which can be sworn
to in court by an independent witness," he objected,
"it doesn't necessarily follow that that person was on
the spot and committed the crime, does it?"
"No," the Inspector agreed at once, "it doesn't. But
in the case of Peter Thursford, Falgate was on the
spot."
"What's your evidence for the alibis of the other
people on the night of Peter Thursford's death?" Wen-
dover inquired.
The Inspector ticked off the points rapidly.
"Peter Thursford's appointment at Azalea Cottage
was at 11.30 p. m. and my constable found his body at
a quarter past midnight; so he must have been killed
between those two times. You had a stag-party here
which lasted till half-past twelve. Harry Thursford
reached Mr. Mackworth's house at 11 p. m. and was
still there when the police rang him up in the small
hours. Checkley and Redhill went out to play tennis at
Mrs. Satterton's and stayed on there till well past mid-
night, playing bridge."
"That seems sound enough," Wendover admitted,
though with a certain reluctance. Then he added, in a
tone of relief, "Since you've pinned Falgate down as


260
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
from her the news that her mistress was returning for
dinner that very evening. The girl had received a post-
card with instructions; and when the constable came
across her in the village she was buying some provisions
to take with her up to Azalea Cottage. The unsenti-
mental Tarporley had refrained from offering to carry
them for her. Instead, with the hope of a good mark in
his mind, he had gone straight to the police station and
given his news to the Inspector.
Severn, thus rescued at the last moment from his dif-
ficulty, decided to run no risks. For all he knew, Viola
might take fright as soon as she arrived and might de-
part as unexpectedly as she had come. It would be well
to be on the spot at the moment of her arrival, he con-
cluded; and in a very short time he was on his way to
Azalea Cottage to wait there for her.
He had long to wait, for she did not arrive until just
before dinner time. He heard her motor stopped at the
gate and then driven into the garage. A couple of minutes
later, she came into the drawing-room just as she had
got out of her car.
"Inspector Severn, isn't it?" she said, coolly. "My
maid told me you were waiting. Can I do anything for
you?"
The Inspector could not make out whether this off-
hand manner was natural or assumed. She certainly ap-
peared in no way perturbed, but merely curious to know
what brought him there. He made up his mind to take
the bull by the horns and see if he could catch her off her
guard.
"I've come to ask some questions about the death of
Mr. Thursford," he explained formally.
"Mr. Thursford? Dead? Which Mr. Thursford?"
The tone of surprise was perfect, Severn had to ad-


262
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
Viola reflected for a few moments, as though running
over her memory in search of facts.
"It's three weeks on Monday since I saw him, and
then it was only in the street."
"You've had no communication whatever with him
since then?"
"None whatever," said Viola in a rather offended tone.
"May I ask, Mr. Severn, what all this is about? I know
nothing about Mr. Peter Thursford. If he's dead, I'm
sorry, of course. But he wasn't anything more than a
mere acquaintance. Hardly even that, for I didn't like
him. What have I got to do with the matter?"
"I'm sorry I've got to ask these questions," Severn
apologised. "In a case of this sort we have to get all the
information we can."
Viola fastened on the expression.
"A case of this sort? What sort?"
The Inspector was beginning to lose patience. Bluff
was all very well in moderation, but this pretence was
so shallow as to be a mere waste of time.
"Mr. Peter Thursford was killed just outside your
gate, there."
He made a faint gesture towards the garden, but kept
his eyes on her face.
"Out there?" She seemed completely surprised.
"When did this happen?"
"It happened the night you went away from here."
"What happened? I mean, how was he killed?"
"In a motor smash," said the Inspector, rather dis-
ingenuously.
"Oh, that was it?"
Her face cleared as a thought crossed her mind.
"I see," she went on. "You thought he was in my
house that evening and that perhaps he'd . . . well,


266
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
She reflected for a moment. Severn guessed that she
was calculating whether she could venture to risk the
test.
"A newish book," he added quickly.
People changed their signatures sometimes, and he
did not want to give her the chance of producing an old
book with an out-of-date signature in it. His glance
ranged round the room and lighted on a tiny bookshelf.
Walking over to it, he picked up book after book until
he came to one in which her name was written, then an-
other, and a third.
"These will do," he said.
On the first fly-leaf he found "V. Langdale" which he
compared with the signature of the letter to Peter Thurs-
ford. The second book had the inscription "Viola Lang-
dale" and he compared the writing of the Christian name
with the signature on the letter to Falgate. The third
book had "Viola Langdale" inscribed in it also, and
again he made a minute comparison. So far as he could
see, the signatures on the letters corresponded — as
closely as any two signatures do correspond in practice
— with those on the books.
Without comment, he showed the writings to Viola.
"I don't care," she said, obstinately. "I didn't either
type or sign these letters."
She bit her lip, evidently in great perplexity.
"I don't understand this," she broke out at last. "Why
should anyone want to make out that I wrote these
things? It's beastly, suggesting the things that letter
hints at! I've a right to know more than you've told me,
Mr. Severn. Where did you get hold of these letters? I
simply can't make head or tail of all this. How did they
fall into your hands?"
"Yes, I expect you'd like to find out as much as you


268
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
But Viola's next words shattered his hopes.
"When I got to London, I put up at the Enterkin
Hotel near Hyde Park Gate, where I always stay when
I'm in London. They know me there. I'd telegraphed
for a room from a post-office on the road."
"When did you get there?" the Inspector asked with
a last effort.
"Oh, about half-past nine or so."
That finished it! If Viola was in London at 9.30 p. m.
on the night that Peter Thursford was killed, she could
not by any possibility have been on the spot, here,
when he died. The Inspector could make a good guess
at when people were telling the truth; and Viola's story
certainly gave him the impression that it was accurate,
now that she had come down to definite, checkable de-
tails. If she were lying, she would never have taken the
risk of mentioning a particular hotel and saying that
it was one where she was well known. That could be
checked. And it would be checked, too. Severn would
see to that.
"What took you to London?" he inquired casually.
"I'm getting some dresses there," Viola said curtly,
as though the subject were displeasing in some way.
"And I had to go up to get fitted some time. I took the
opportunity of going then."
"And you never heard of Mr. Peter Thursford's
death?"
"How could I?" Viola demanded in a surprised tone.
"I don't read newspapers when I'm in London. I've
plenty of other things to do. And I'd left no address
here, so no one wrote to me. Of course I didn't hear
about it. And you're the first person I've seen — ex-
cept my maid in passing — since I got back here. I
think you'd better tell me what's happened now."


VIOLA LANGDALE
269
She paused abruptly, as though something had
passed through her mind.
"Oh, I begin to see! You thought I was mixed up
in it because of those letters? Is that it?"
Severn took refuge in a short narrative of Peter
Thursford's end. When he had finished, Viola was
silent for a few moments.
"I see," she said slowly. "And these letters were
found on Mr. Peter Thursford and Mr. Falgate?
That's very strange. Let me see the things again,
please."
She examined them deliberately, both typescript
and signatures, and then handed them back.
"You're quite right. The typing is the same as my
own machine's, and these signatures are exactly like
mine. But these letters weren't written by me, Mr.
Severn. I never saw them until you took them out of
your pocket. I can't imagine who's done this."
"Just one more question," said Severn. "Why did
you not leave your London address when you went
there? You knew where you were going even before
you left here, I suppose."
Viola looked at him reflectively. Her coolness had
come back to her again.
"Is it essential that you should pry into my private
affairs? Well, then, I went away from here because I
was being pestered by somebody and I wanted to stop
that. If I'd left my address, I might have been followed
and bothered again. That's why."
Severn had no need to push his inquiry further. The
maid had told him about Harry Thursford's per-
sistence in coming to Azalea Cottage after the engage-
ment had been broken off. Viola's whole story hung
together perfectly with the other evidence which he had.


270
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
He retired in good order; but as he walked back to
the police station, his feelings were anything but
pleasant. In some ways that interview had been dis-
astrous for his self-esteem. He had gone to it with the
certainty that Viola Langdale held one of the keys of
the mystery; and now he was left puzzled as to her
real position. Her story tallied perfectly well with all
the other facts which he had about her movements;
and he was quite prepared to admit that investigation
would probably confirm her statement that she was at
a London hotel at the time Peter Thursford was killed.
But that didn't mean she was entirely cleared. These
letters might be genuine after all, in spite of her denials.
She might not have been on the spot, but she might have
acted as decoy to bring Peter Thursford to the place
where he met his death.
At the police station, he got out his microscope and
examined the signatures on the decoy letters; and as he
did so, he vented his feelings in a heartfelt oath. There,
plain enough, he could see the work of the forger re-
vealed: the hesitations of the pen, the wavering edges of
the lines, even a faint retouching at one place where the
first "tracing had been unsatisfactory. What a fool he had
been! Cocksure of the identity of the typewriter itself,
he had neglected to put the signatures through the test.
Just at the critical point he had given thoroughness the
go-by, deserted his principles, and missed an essential
fact in the case.
Very much shaken in his confidence, he began to
wonder if he had not made some mistake about the type-
writing itself. Again he went over the documents: the
letter to Falgate, the letter to Peter Thursford, his own
impressions from the Underwood portable, and Viola's
copy taken at his dictation. It was with a sigh of relief


VIOLA LANGDALE
271
that he put them down at last. No, he'd made no mistake
there. The whole lot of them came from the one machine.
And what was more, the blackness of the ribbon-
impression was practically the same in them all, which
showed that all of them had been written within the last
few days.
A final test occurred to him. This time he would be
thorough in every detail. When these typescripts had
begun to bulk largely in his case, he had gone to a public
library and taken out Osborn's Questioned Documents
to familiarise himself with the proper procedure in the
identification of typewriters; and now a case described
in that book came back to his mind. Typewriter ribbons
have their individual characteristics also. No two of
them are woven exactly alike. Eagerly he set about his
new test.
Taking the letter to Falgate first, he put it under his
microscope and examined one of the capital "I" 's. Mag-
nified in this way, the line which to the naked eye seemed
uniform was now revealed as a series of spots with very
minute spaces between them, each spot corresponding to
the impression of one of the horizontal threads of the
ribbon. Where the type-face encountered the gaps be-
tween two adjacent threads, no impression had been left
on the paper. Fortunately for the Inspector, the ribbon
was a well-worn one, which made the test easier.
Severn counted the dots in the stalk of the capital "I"
and found thirteen of them, which showed that the rib-
bon had been woven of a texture containing thirteen
threads in the height of a capital letter. Turning to the
letter to Peter Thursford, he found thirteen threads
there also, and the same number in his own impressions
and in the copy which Viola had taken down under his
dictation.


272 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
"Well, that's clinched," he assured himself in a more
cheerful tone. "Same paper, same typewriter, same rib-
bon: there's no doubt about that point, anyhow."
And now his interview with Viola Langdale appeared
in a better guise. He had been on the wrong track at the
start; but none the less he had got the information he
really needed to advance his case. He took out his table
of alibis, changed the dash at Viola's name to a cross in
the third column, and examined the result.
I.
n.
in.
Wendover
+
+
+
Falgate
+
—
—
H. Thursford
+
+
+
Checkley
—
+
"+
Redhill
+
+
+
Miss Langdale
+
—
+
If it was a two-handed business, then Checkley and
Falgate between them could have managed it: Checkley
being responsible for the affair at Hell's Gape and Fal-
gate being the killer of Peter Thursford and Coniston.
And quite possibly Coniston's death was accidental,
after all. That was just on the cards.
He turned up the letter of invitation which Checkley
had produced to justify his presence at Hell's Gape.
On re-reading it in the light of his new knowledge, he
was almost disgusted to think that he had ever been
deceived by it. The old lady, the family recipe, the cot-
tage that couldn't be located — the whole affair was so
obviously a fake from start to finish.
"Herb Suckit!" the Inspector snorted, almost indig-
nantly. "As if anybody in their senses would call a stuff
by that name! I must have been demented when I took
that seriously."


VIOLA LAN GDALE
273
Checkley would find it difficult to account for that
spurious letter. He had over-reached himself by produc-
ing it, for beyond his own statement there was nothing
to prove that he had ever been near the Gape on that
fatal afternoon.
The case against Falgate was plain enough, so far as
Peter Thursford's death was concerned. But here the
Inspector had to admit that there was a very big loop-
hole for escape. A motor smash was such an everyday
affair in these times; and the jury might take it into
their heads to treat the thing as manslaughter. Still, now
that he had Viola Langdale's evidence, the Inspector
thought he could make that position untenable. There
were too many flaws in Falgate's story: the Yale key
that couldn't be found, the decanter that didn't exist,
and the lack of his fingerprints on any soda-water bottle
in the stock at Azalea Cottage. These would be awkward
matters for his barrister to explain away.
Severn opened a drawer and took out some of the
other exhibits which he hoped to use in court at no dis-
tant date. Sir Clinton had returned those sent to him, al-
most at once. The first thing that came to hand was the
long strip of positive prints taken from Willenhall's neg-
atives of the Maiden's Well. The Inspector searched for
the corresponding prints taken from his own films, put
the two side by side, and contemplated them with the
satisfaction of an artist.
"That was a neat bit of photographing, though I say
it myself," he pronounced judicially. "I've got his view-
point to a hair, except that the big stone in the near fore-
ground looks a shade broader in his print than it does in
mine. Dashed little, though. The only one where I'm
much out are the ones that are twins to his photos of
Harry Thursford. He's got a lot more of the near fore-


VIOLA LANGDALE
275
drew out one or two of the remaining albums and began
to examine negatives in them, here and there, making a
mental running commentary as he did so.
"Standing Stones. That doesn't offer much chance of
the picturesque, anyhow. But one could have made a
good guess at the time it was taken, if one had to, from
the length of the shadows — he's got them very clear.
. . . What's this?" He turned the film round and re-
ferred to the autographed description. "Oh, yes,
'Spinney, Heatingham, 2 June.' . . . And here's one
of Heatingham Abbey. Must be rather prettyin a posi-
tive. . . . And this looks like Halstead's garden." He
referred to the inscription. "Yes, that looks like Hal-
stead himself by the rock-pool. . . . And here's one of
Heatingham Abbey. Must be rather pretty in a posi-
tive . . . And this looks like Halstead's garden." He
referred to the inscription. "Yes, that looks like Halstead
himself by the rock-pool. . . . And here's one of a
girl . . . 'Miss Langdale, 3 June.' She's a cool card,
that girl."


THE DIAL OF AHAZ
277
you, Squire," Sir Clinton commented. "Now that it's
over — at least I hope so — I may as well tell you that
I've had a watch kept on you lately. You see, since you
were the one obviously innocent person in that Syndi-
cate of yours, your death wouldn't have narrowed the
circle of suspicion; and therefore you were the most
likely person to be knocked out. I couldn't spare the men
to watch everybody; but your case was the most urgent
one."
"I'd never thought of that," Wendover confessed.
"Now you put it forward, of course it's plain enough.
But I don't remember seeing your 'shadow' on my heels
anywhere."
"I imported a man or two from another district,"
Sir Clinton explained. "There wouldn't have been much
point in having you dogged by people you knew, would
there? You'd have spotted my guard at once and prob-
ably raised a howl at being given special treatment."
"That's so," Wendover had to admit. "I shouldn't
have cared to be singled out for special protection. It
would have looked a bit like favouritism, seeing that
you're a friend of mine."
"No doubt," Sir Clinton agreed, drily.
Next morning proved to be clear-skied, and Wendover
went off on his business errand with at least the comfort
that the evening would bring him a good deal nearer an
understanding of the problem of the Syndicate. As soon
as he had gone, Sir Clinton in his turn set out, armed
with a kodak of the same pattern as the one used by
Willenhall. His car took him up the road to the point
nearest the Maiden's Well which he visited for a short
time to take photographs. Then he turned back to the
village, called on the druggist and made arrangements
to have the films developed immediately and rough


278
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
prints of them made, without waiting for them to dry.
His next port of call was the police station, where he
spent some time in looking over back records of minor
crimes. Finally, he paid a visit to Azalea Cottage. Miss
Langdale was out, but he interviewed the maid, sent her
into the garden, and, while she was there, copied out both
the decoy letters on the Underwood portable. That done,
he returned to the druggist and collected the prints which
had been made from his films. He seemed well satisfied
with his morning's work when he returned to the Grange
for lunch.
In the afternoon, Sir Clinton refused to discuss the
case with Wendover on the ground that it was not yet
quite complete; but it was plain enough from his manner
that little remained to be done, and his host could not
understand why the Chief Constable insisted on going
for a walk instead of finishing his investigation at once.
"Severn's got the stuff," was all Sir Clinton would
vouchsafe. "He'll bring it up when he comes tonight.
Then we shall see. By the way, Squire, would you mind
if I put your wireless out of action temporarily in the
cause of law and order? I may have to, but I promise
not to do any real damage to the set."
"I've no objection," Wendover assured him at once.
But the proposal left him completely puzzled. It was
of no use questioning Sir Clinton, for quite obviously he
meant to divulge nothing until he had the Inspector
there. Wireless? What on earth had wireless to do with
the case? And why should it be necessary to put his set
out of order? Wendover gave it up.
He fidgeted through the afternoon and during dinner,
until Sir Clinton had to enter a mild protest against his
lack of connected conversation; but at last they left the
table. Wendover made his way to the smoking-room,


280 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
hotel and had found it perfectly accurate. She was quite
well known there, and he easily obtained confirmatory
evidence from the hotel servants. As he explained this,
Wendover's hackles obviously subsided.
"I told you Miss Langdale had nothing to do with it,"
the Squire pointed out, but he said it more to justify his
own acumen than in depreciation of Severn.
"So your idea is that Checkley and Falgate have been
working this affair together?" Sir Clinton asked, when
the Inspector had gone over his evidence.
"I don't see how you can make anything else out of
it," Severn said dogmatically.
"I was just wondering where the theft of three one-
pound sample tins of toffee came into your tale," said
Sir Clinton innocently. "Perhaps I was dozing when you
dealt with that point."
"I don't quite understand, sir," said the Inspector,
helplessly.
He was accustomed to Sir Clinton's peculiarities, but
this particular irrelevance confused him. He suspected
that the Chief Constable was making sly fun of his pas-
sion for detail.
Sir Clinton brushed the matter aside.
"Well, well, we'll not bother about it just now," he
said in a business-like tone, as though he regretted his
jest and wished to cover it up. "Your point is that this
was a two-handed affair. Checkley went to Falgate one
fine day and said: 'Hello, old cock, what about doing in
one or two of our fellow-Syndicateers and scooping a
bigger share of the money?' And Falgate, being an in-
telligent fellow, caught his meaning at once, and replied:
'I'm on. Where do we begin?' Do you know, Inspector,
that bit of dialogue doesn't sound to me quite natural.
And even if you paraphrase it, I don't feel it gets any


THE DIAL OF AHAZ
281
more natural in the process. It would take a bit of nerve
to put forward a proposition of that kind, between
friends, no matter how much you wrapped it up in re-
fined English. It has been done, of course; but it's hardly
a common sort of arrangement. I'd rather see something
simpler."
"Facts are facts, sir," the Inspector protested stub-
bornly.
"I'm not disputing your facts. The trouble is, I don't
care for some of your inferences."
"But that alibi table of mine's based on facts. If you
don't dispute them, then I don't see your point," Severn
complained.
Sir Clinton did not reply directly.
"A sound alibi is the best defence that can be put up,
I admit. But on the other hand, an unsuccessful attempt
to prove an alibi generally damns an accused person in
the eyes of a jury. If you break a man's alibi you don't
necessarily prove him guilty on that account, but you
discredit him considerably, all the same. Therefore it's
obvious that we've got to overhaul these alibis very
thoroughly from every point of view."
"I've done that already," said the Inspector in a
rather resentful tone.
"Then there's no harm in my running over them
again," the Chief Constable pointed out placidly. "Let's
take the case of the Hell's Gape affair first of all."
Wendover saw that the Inspector was rather per-
turbed by this persistence. Sir Clinton never wasted
time, and if he proposed to "run over" the evidence, it
was plain enough that he had something in view beyond
what Severn had elicited.
"There's one form of alibi that has interested me,
off and on, for some years," Sir Clinton began, reminis-


282
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
cently. "It was bound to be tried, sooner or later; and
I've often thought over how it could be done and how it
could be defeated if it was tried. There's a very neat
suggestion about it in Barry Pain's Problem Club yarns.
He devised a practically unbreakable alibi based on
photographs; but it needed two men to work it, which
would be rather a large order for an actual criminal
case."
"I've read that," Wendover interjected. "Given the
premises, it would be absolutely conclusive. But it
needed two men, as you say."
"I looked on the thing in this way," Sir Clinton went
on. "An alibi depends on establishing two factors; place
and time. Take the case of a murder. The murderer
wants to prove that he wasn't on the spot when the
crime was committed or that he was on some other spot
when the murder was done. The second alternative's
obviously the more convincing of the two. Now obviously
a man can't be in two places at once. If the murder was
committed at noon at a certain place, the murderer can't
prove that he was at another place at midday except by
employing a witness to commit perjury or by mislead-
ing his witness with a doctored watch or clock. A single-
handed crime bars out the perjured witness; and nowa-
days the altering of a watch would hardly convince
anyone.
"How can you get round that? Suppose you change
the apparent time at which the murder was committed.
Meet an honest witness at eleven o'clock; go off and
commit your murder at noon; fake the evidence to prove
that the murder was done at eleven o'clock; and there's
your alibi."
"Yes," the Inspector admitted grudgingly. "I dare
say."


THE DIAL OF AHAZ
283
Obviously, from his tone, he was dismissing this idea
as having no connection with his own actual case.
"That brings us to the photographic alibi," Sir Clin-
ton continued briskly, without appearing to notice the
Inspector's attitude. "The essence of an alibi of that sort
is that it must contain, in the photograph itself, some
definite evidence of the time the picture was taken. One
could include a clock-face, for example, with the hands
at the appropriate time. But I don't think that would
convince a sceptic. He'd see immediately that one can
shift the hands of a clock or a watch to suit the purpose
of the photograph. Something rather less obvious is
wanted.
"A sundial suggests itself as the next possibility. But
it would be a bit difficult to arrange a snapshot of a
sundial without dragging improbability in a bit; and
sundials aren't usually in places where murder can be
safely committed. But the sundial notion set me think-
ing about shadows, for after all any shadow will serve
the purpose of establishing the time at which a snap-
shot was taken on a given day. You did it yourself,
Inspector, and very well, too, with that series of photo-
graphs you took."
Severn did not seem altogether pleased with the com-
pliment. He was now evidently perturbed by Sir Clin-
ton's line of argument. Then, as something crossed his
mind, he brightened up again as though he had detected
a flaw in the Chief Constable's reasoning. Whatever it
was, he kept it to himself for the moment.
"Speculations of that sort have been in my mind for
long enough," Sir Clinton went on. "And that afternoon,
up at Hell's Gape, they came up again, merely casually,
I admit. These big fangs of rock, you remember, throw-
ing their shadows on the cliff-face: it was a kind of


286 THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
strip. Taking a pencil from his pocket, the Chief Con-
stable put a fine point on it.
"Now if you look at this," he reminded them, "you see
at this end the three photographs of Hell's Gape which
had been taken before we arrived. Then there's a blank
exposure, which comes out almost transparent. And
finally, there are the two snapshots of the body which
I took myself."
Wendover and the Inspector, bending over the table,
could see the objects as he enumerated them:
"Watch what I do," Sir Clinton directed, as he laid
the edge of his yard-stick accurately along the lower
edge of the three left-hand negatives and ruled a faint
line on the film, continuing it towards the right. He then
shifted the yard-stick over to the lower edges of the two
right-hand negatives and ruled a second faint line, which
he continued to the left until it cut the first pencil-mark.
"Now, Wendover, you're the impartial referee here.
Have a good look at these two lines and then draw a
rough diagram of what you see. You needn't bother
about drawing to scale or anything like that. Just a very
rough sketch will do."
Wendover examined the film carefully for a time be-
fore making his report.
"The two lines aren't continuous. Is that what you
mean? They look like this, if one exaggerates the thing
a lot."
He drew a very crude sketch to illustrate his mean-
ing.
"That's good enough," Sir Clinton said. "You see the
thing too, Inspector? The three negatives of the Gape


THE DIAL OF AHAZ
287
lie in one line, whilst the blank exposure and my two
photographs of the body lie in a second line which isn't
parallel to the first one but cuts it at an angle. That's
what I wanted to bring out. As you see, they're so nearly
in line with each other all the way along that unless you
were looking for it specially you might not notice that
they were out of the true. What do you make of it?"

Severn evidently saw where this was trending; and in
his reluctance to admit the thing which cut at the root
of his case, he hesitated long enough to give Wendover
his chance.
"I see what you're driving at, Clinton. That's damned
ingenious! You mean there was some monkeying with
that spool of film after the first three exposures were
taken on it? They were all taken one after another
and they're all in line as they ought to be. Then the
film was taken out of the camera and put back again
slightly out of the original adjustment, so that the sec-
ond set didn't quite align with the first trio. Is that
it?"
He broke off with a rather disappointed air.
"I don't quite see what follows from that, though,
except that there's been some hankey-pankey."
Severn could not resist the chance of scoring over
Wendover.
"You mean, sir, that the first three photographs —
the ones of Hell's Gape — were taken with another ko-
dak of the same pattern and were substituted for the
actual spool in WillenhalPs camera?"


294
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
aged to get his own picture, just as if Willenhall had
taken it?"
Severn had to admit the possibility of the method.
"Then the whole lot of these three rolls of film were
just spoof pictures taken by Harry Thursford and not
by Willenhall? And they weren't taken on that day at
all, they were prepared beforehand? That's your case,
sir?"
"Yes. Harry Thursford substituted them for the real
rolls which he took out of Willenhall's pocket after the
smash. Obviously he had to make the whole series con-
sistent."
"And I walked right into his trap," the Inspector com-
mented savagely, "just when I thought I was being extra
smart. And . . . I had the whole of the evidence in front
of me all the time! I noticed the foregrounds, I spotted
that the last roll wasn't autographed although the rest
were, and I knew about the stiffness of the camera-
screw and the roughening of the edge of the film. I have
made a hash of things!"
"It just happened that I'd amused myself with think-
ing out the notion of a photographic alibi," Sir Clinton
pointed out. "I had the advantage of you there. And
it was your fact and photographs that helped to clinch
the business, Inspector. I shouldn't let it worry you."
Wendover interjected the result of his private reflec-
tions.
"This what you meant when you said that an un-
successful attempt at an alibi is damning?"
"I'm afraid Harry Thursford may have some diffi-
culty in explaining away these photographs now," Sir
Clinton agreed. "You see, we can prove they weren't
taken by Willenhall. But Harry Thursford swears that
Willenhall took them. And what's more, they fit Harry


THE DIAL OF AHAZ
295
Thursford's story to a minute, almost. I suspect that the
jury will regard both snapshots and story as fakes. The
one thing collapses and brings down the other thing with
it. And the resources of science are not yet exhausted.
With your permission, Squire, I'm now going to do some
temporary damage to your wireless set over there."
Severn opened his eyes at this apparently irrelevant
suggestion; but he was still too sore to risk any vocal
comment. Sir Clinton picked up the insulated wire, the
copper stylus, the copper plate, and his tools, and then,
pulling a small table close to the wireless set, he set to
work.
"What I'm doing won't harm the set permanently,"
he explained. "I'm merely cutting a wire in the grid-
circuit and joining one of the broken ends to this copper
plate. The other broken end goes to this copper stylus.
When we're finished, I'll replace the broken wire again
and you'll be able to hear all about the 'depressions
centering over Iceland' and the 'ridge of high pressure
approaching from the Atlantic' just as usual. And mean-
while, Inspector, you might hunt out the original of
that letter from Willenhall to Harry Thursford. I've
only seen a copy of it, hitherto."
Only a few minutes were required for Sir Clinton's
arrangements, and when they were complete, he put
on the rubber glove to insulate his hand while he manipu-
lated the stylus. The copper plate he laid on the table
with the rubber pad beneath it, and then, taking the
letter from Severn, he placed it fiat on the surface of
the metal slab.
"I came across this dodge in a book on forgery by
. Captain Quirke, the Free State Government's expert,"
he explained. "It's a very refined method of testing for
erasures in a document. First of all, we bring the wire-


THE DIAL OF AHAZ
297
ine, and everything pointed to it being all right. It made
the appointment with Harry Thursford at Crowland
Corner at 10.15 a. m. easily. All the evidence that the
story told by Harry Thursford. But now we know that
Harry Thursford's story is a mere pack of lies; and
we have to fall back on other evidence. Willenhall left
the village at 9.45 a. m. He could have got to Crowland's
Corner at 10.15 a. m. easily. All the evidence that he
wasted time on the road is based on photographs which
we know are fakes. Therefore it's reasonable to assume
that he got to Crowland's Corner at 10.15 a. m.
"But Harry Thursford had to make the time 10.45
a. m. to fit his story. There was one extra bit of evidence
he could forge. He could use his own Corona machine
to alter one figure in the genuine Willenhall letter —
change the '1' into a '4.' It's such a very minor change
that it could be done easily enough without leaving any
really visible trace. The typewriters were of the same
make, so that the style of figures would correspond ex-
actly. It only meant scrupulous care in the erasing and
fitting the new figure into exactly the right spot. And
by that means, Harry Thursford established, on the
evidence of Willenhall's own letter, that they had met
at Crowland's Corner at 10.45 a.m. instead of 10.15
a. m. He gained half-an-hour; and he accounted for
that with the fake photographs which went to show that
Willenhall had pottered about the Silver Grove grounds
between 9.45 a. m. and 10.45 a. m. when he reached
Crowland's Corner.
"In erasing the figure '1' and substituting the '4,' he
made the paper a shade thinner. That was what made
the loud-speaker change its note when I put the stylus
over that spot on the document. You'd better try it
for yourselves."


298
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
The Inspector and Wendover followed his directions
and were able to detect the area of the erasure quite dis-
tinctly.
"That will be another detail which Harry Thursford
will find it very hard to account for," Sir Clinton com-
mented. "And now," he turned to the Inspector, "we
come to that theft of three one-pound sample tins of
toffee from the Checkley sweet-meat factory. That
looked like a greedy small boy, didn't it? It was meant
to look like that. But would a greedy small boy with a
dirty nose-rag be so very careful not to leave any finger-
prints? I admit the spread of education and all that
sort of thing, but still ... it stuck in my throat when
I read the case in the archives. Particularly as I'd been
looking for some burglary at Checkley's house or at
his office."
"What made you think there must have been a bur-
glary at Checkley's?" Wendover demanded.
"Because the letter about 'Herb Suckit' fitted in so
neatly with the times according to Harry Thursford,
and I knew that Harry Thursford's times were fakes.
Therefore it was unlikely that that letter was a sound
bit of evidence. It had undoubtedly been written on
Checkley's Remington, as the Inspector proved. There-
fore someone must have got at Checkley's typewriter
surreptitiously. Burglary was the obvious way to man-
age that."
"You mean that Harry Thursford was the burglar of
Checkley's place and that what he was really after was
to type out the threatening letters and the 'Herb Suckit'
production while he was on the premises. The theft of
the toffee was a blind, merely?"
"Exactly. Here's one bit of confirmatory evidence.
There are no dates on the threatening letters or the


300
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
land's Corner at 10.15 a. m. He at once despatched the
'Herb Suckit' invitation to Checkley, knowing that it
could not reach him through the post before the morn-
ing of the murder, and that there was no chance of
Willenhall and Checkley running across each other be-
fore Willenhall started off for his appointment.
"At 10.15 a. m. he met Willenhall at Crowland's
Corner, and a question or two would bring out whether
Willenhall had met anyone as he came through the
Silver Grove grounds. He hadn't, as we know now; and
that left the way open for Harry Thursford to go on
with his scheme. If Willenhall had chanced to meet some-
one, the scheme would have been risky owing to a pos-
sible discrepancy between the time Willenhall was seen
on the road and the times deducible from the faked
snapshots.
"Then they went up to the Well, where presumably
Willenhall took some photographs which Thursford aft-
erwards suppressed in favour of his own fakes. After
that they went on together up to Hell's Gape, reaching
there about 11.15 a. m., I should imagine, if one reckons
out the distance they had to walk.
"Up at the Gape, I suspect that Harry Thursford
made some pretence of having had an early breakfast
and got Willenhall to offer him a sandwich. That was
to get the sandwich-case into the evidence and lend
further colour to the idea that the death occurred about
lunch-time.
"As to the murder itself, there are any number of ways
of luring an unsuspecting man to the edge of a cliff where
one good shove will send him over. Then Thursford
probably made sure he was dead. After that he took all
the 'genuine' rolls of film out of Willenhall's pockets
and substituted his own fakes, refilled the camera with


THE DIAL OF AHAZ
301
his half-used fake film, and cleared off in time to meet
Miss Langdale at noon, according to previous arrange-
ment. He had to be at that little dell with plenty of
time in hand, for if she had got there first, she would have
seen that he came down from the Hell's Gape direction.
You can understand now what a devil of a hurry he must
have been in when he was inserting that last roll of film
into the camera, and how easily he could make the mis-
take of putting it in slightly off the true.
"That left him on velvet. The snapshots dated the
murder at after half-past one, instead of at 11.15 a. M.;
and at 1.30 p. m. he'd been in Miss Langdale's company
for a solid hour. His alibi was perfect, on the evidence.
And on the other side of the Gape, the unfortunate
Checkley, lured there by the faked 'Herb Suckit' in-
vitation, was toiling up the slope in nice time to be
suspected of the murder at half-past one.
"All that remained was to alter the 10.15 in Willen-
hall's invitation into 10.45 — the change of a single
figure — and Thursford had what seemed to be a per-
fectly cast-iron alibi. But unfortunately for him, the
more cast-iron his alibi was, the worse plight he's got
into now that the alibi's gone west. He's far worse off
now than he would have been if he'd no alibi at all. The
thing breaks down on so many points that no jury
could fail to convict."


CHAPTER XIX: THE REST OF THE CASE
In the past, Wendover had goodhumouredly endured
sundry examples of Sir Clinton's irony at his expense;
and now he thought he saw his way clear to getting
some of his own back.
"Hamlet minus the Prince of Denmark," he com-
mented sardonically. "Everything there, except the mo-
tive for it all. May I point out that Harry Thursford
resigned from the Syndicate after Coniston's death?
He stands out altogether now. If he committed these
murders, why did he resign?"
Sir Clinton pulled out his cigarette case, took out a
cigarette, and lit it before replying.
"Why did he resign? Why, I suppose he did it to
hoodwink people like yourself, Squire."
"But what's the motive behind the whole affair? What
does he gain in the business?"
"He gains a half-share in his uncle's cinema business,
since he and his sister are old Peter's heirs. And I'm
not in much doubt that he gains over £60,000 from the
shares he bought up from Redhill and Checkley under
cover of all that mystery-mongering. Once we get him
under lock and key, the Inspector can overhaul his
bank account and I shall be very much surprised if
we don't find some trace of notes drawn out to finance
these cash transactions of his. The whole of that busi-
ness was fishy from start to finish. No firm of bookies
would ever have indulged in pseudo-melodrama like
that, you know."


THE REST OF THE CASE
303
"So he was your Mr. ABCD," said Wendover to the
Inspector. "You had the right end of the stick there,
if you can prove it."
"I don't think there'll really be much difficulty about
that part of the business," Sir Clinton assured him.
"Harry Thursford's one of these clever fellows who
over-reach themselves by being just a shade too clever;
and I've not the least doubt we shall find the same trait
in his financial manoeuvres. Damn!"
The abrupt ending was due to his twitching his cig-
arette and sending some ash on to his trousers. He got
up hurriedly, put his cigarette on the ash-tray at the
Inspector's elbow, and dusted his clothes vigorously.
"I hope the damned stuff hasn't burned a hole any-
where," he said anxiously, as he inspected the cloth.
"No, it seems all right. And now, let's get on to the
Coniston affair. That was a much neater business than
the Hell's Gape murder. It was a far riskier thing to
try; but once it came off, it was absolutely unprovable
against him. At least, I can't prove how it was done,
though I've a fair notion of how he managed it. But
it's an interesting variation in the alibi problem, for
in it he actually had a real cast-iron alibi with no faking
about it."
"You don't think you could bring it home to him?"
the Inspector asked in a rather disappointed tone.
"No, not strongly enough to convince a jury. In fact,
I'm only making a guess at the method. We don't need
to prove it. The Hell's Gape affair will serve our simple
needs, so far as hanging him's concerned. But about
Coniston. Just try to recollect, if you can, what happened
just before Coniston set off that night. What was the
last thing . . ."
F-F-F-F-T-T!


THE REST OF THE CASE
305
"More or less," Sir Clinton agreed. "Of course he used
genuine Ardath cigarettes and extracted some of the
tobacco from one end. Then he planted a pinch of gun-
powder and refilled the paper tube with tobacco. He
must have wasted dozens of cigarettes before he pro-
duced one that would pass muster. It's no easy job, I
can tell you from experience."
The Inspector rubbed his chin doubtfully.
"I'm inclined to agree with you, sir, that a jury would
be a bit chary about taking our word for it. Lucky that
there's no need to prove each of the cases. One's
enough."
Sir Clinton nodded, and lit another cigarette.
"The next thing Harry Thursford did was to resign
from the Syndicate. That meant losing £40,000; but
it also meant that it apparently removed him completely
from the list of possible suspects. I've a sneaking ad-
miration for him, over that. There's a certain boldness
in the conception, you know. And he could afford to do
it, since his actual share was even then bigger than any
of the rest of you had. He seems to have carried it off
well in his acting, and taken you all in.
"Unfortunately, from his point of view, that pro-
duced repercussions which he hadn't foreseen. Miss
Langdale broke off her engagement. And from what I've
heard about Miss Langdale, I gather that she has a
rather sharp tongue when she's vexed. I think she was
vexed by Harry Thursford's resignation from the Syn-
dicate — which, of course she did not clearly understand
— and she probably said what she thought about it —
and him — very plainly. When some men are turned
down, they turn nasty."
"Revengeful, do you mean?" Wendover demanded.
"If you like the word. Now take the affair of Peter


312
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
another, or the length of the line, or anything of that
sort. Whatever it is, you find him always doing it, be-
cause it's second nature to him, no matter what machine
he's using."
The Inspector hurriedly turned over the various docu-
ments in the case, while Wendover endeavoured to get
a glimpse of them.
"Punctuation sometimes suggests something," Sir
Clinton hinted slyly, when Severn seemed to draw blank.
The Inspector caught his meaning at last.
"Oh, I see. There isn't a comma in the Willenhall-
Checkley fake invitation . . . Nor in the threatening
letters ..."
"Nor in the decoy letters supposed to have been writ-
ten by Miss Langdale either. That's the important point.
If they were written by the same person who wrote the
'Herb Suckit' fake, then you have the link between the
two cases. And obviously they were. Therefore Harry
Thursford was at the bottom of the Azalea Cottage
business. And therefore his alibi in that case was a fraud.
But his alibi began at 11 p. m., so the murder must have
been done before that. And hence it's possible to unravel
the whole tangle, as I've shown you. I don't say I'm cor-
rect in every detail; but I think I'm near enough. In any
case, it's a bit academic, for we shan't need to drag in
either the Coniston or the Peter Thursford affairs. We
can bring the Hell's Gape murder home to him quite
clearly."
"I'm glad of that," Wendover declared frankly. "Miss
Langdale needn't be dragged into the business then.
Awkward for her to have that letter read out in court,
you know. A lot of old wives would chatter and 'wonder
whether there wasn't something in it after all.' That
young scoundrel must have been eaten up with spite
and rage when he planned to bring her into the affair.


THE REST OF THE CASE
313
The worst of it was, he had probability in his favour over
one thing. Old Thursford would have behaved just like
that, if he'd had the chance. I overheard something once
that showed up the old man completely on that sub-
ject."
Sir Clinton made no comment on this, but turned to
the Inspector with a business-like air.
"We can prove the case without adducing a motive, of
course. But as soon as you get young Thursford under
lock and key, you'd better take steps to examine his bank
account. I don't see how we can miss finding evidence
there to connect him with these transactions in the Syndi-
cate shares. Then you'd better search his house and see
if you can find a No. 1A Kodak. Most likely he's got
rid of it, but it's worth looking for. And if you can trace
any purchases of films by him, it would be just as well
to know about them."
He paused for a moment, considering a course of
action.
"And now, Inspector, I think you'd better be off at
once and arrest Harry Thursford without wasting time.
If you want a warrant, Mr. Wendover can give you one.
We must let Mr. Falgate out of gaol at once, now, and
we can't do that till we've got Thursford locked up. He
might hear of Falgate's release and take fright if we
gave him a chance. I'll see about releasing Falgate. Mr.
Wendover will lend you a car to follow up Thursford in
case he happens to be out at a friend's house tonight."
In a very few minutes everything was arranged and
the Inspector departed on his errand.
"I'll borrow the second car, if you don't mind, Squire,
and go down myself to see about Falgate's release. If
you've no objection, I want to bring him back here for
a short time. We'll have to explain things to him, more
or less, so as to avoid any squalls on his part or even


314
THE SWEEPSTAKE MURDERS
incautious talk. I think I know what note to strike."
"What one?" Wendover asked curiously.
"Well, I'll tell him we want to keep Miss Langdale's
name out of it all," Sir Clinton said with a faint smile.
"He's not the same breed as Thursford, you see, Squire.
Although she turned him down once, he was ready to
hurry to her side as soon as he thought she was in a tight
place. I think we can persuade him to keep his mouth
shut by saying it's in her interest — as, of course, it is."
He paused again, and his smile seemed to become a
cynical one.
"I expect this is the first time you've had a financial
interest in the date of a hanging, Squire."
"What d'you mean?" Wendover demanded uncom-
prehendingly.
"Well, your share in the Syndicate's worth £60,480
at present. If the High Court over there drags out its
procedure until after Thursford's execution, why . . .
then your share will be worth £80,640. There'll only be
yourself, Redhill, and Falgate left to split the £241,920
between you, then. A tidy little sum for each of you.
What do you mean to do with it?"
"You're a gruesome devil," Wendover protested an-
grily. "As to the money, I don't need it; and I'd feel —
well, I couldn't touch it. It's hardly clean cash, some-
how. I've made up my mind to give it away in charity."
He smiled in turn, evidently tickled by the thought
that occurred to him.
"There's a police fund, isn't there, for providing
supplements to pensions of debilitated Chief Constables
and other small fry? I'll give some of the money to that,
Clinton. Now, say 'Thank you!' nicely."
THE END


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