"Charming people these are, mostly. But I group 'em with my own late uncle under the general category of lice.
"Now, you thought Hubert was a blackmailer. Whereas Masters and I were all at sea simply because, burn me, we did know the facts!
"Last Sunday afternoon, Masters came round to me with a lot of accumulated facts. With the assistance of the bank, he'd looked up the financial standing of everybody in this case; and, as he said, he found absolutely nothing to surprise or help us in any way. In other words, Hubert was just what he pretended to be: a rich man.
"But I didn't at all like die statement of Arthur's financial position.
"What did we know? Six months ago, Arthur was so flat broke and in debt that he had to cash in on his life insurance. But what happened? He got it back later. And what else? All of a sudden, streams of cash were runnin' into Arthur's account — into the current account, where he could use 'em to pay debts — and by the middle of August his books were all straight again."
Again H.M. peered over his spectacles at Vicky. He chewed at the end of his black cigar.
"We then talked to you. You poured out the details of how Arthur had killed Polly Allen (details supplied by Hubert alone); and you told us how Hubert was a penniless blackmailer who'd been bleedin' Arthur in a mild, gentlemanly way.
"And, I repeat, that tore it. I saw how the whole situation had been put the wrong way round. If Hubert himself was the murderer, and Arthur the blackmailer, that made everything fit together with a wallop. It supplied the thing that had bothered me like blazes: motive."
Vicky had a wrinkle between her brows. She made several false starts before she managed to speak.
"Then Arthur," she said hesitantly, "never…?"
"Played the rip?" said H.M. "No. He was a crook financially. But he was a strictly faithful husband. He said, and believed it himself, that there wasn't a happier couple in England than himself and his wife."
Vicky put her hands over her eyes.
H.M. looked uncomfortable.
"But maybe," he went on, puffing out a cloud of poisonous smoke, "I'd better take the story from the beginning.
"Now, I had my eye on Uncle Hubert from the start. Maybe he reminded me of a certain blighter I once knew years ago. But never mind that. The closer you looked at him, the fishier everything about him seemed.
"For instance, he liked to play the part of the paternal uncle, the father of his female friends, the 'dear old gentleman' who had only benevolent advice for young ladies. But he wasn't old, unless you're young enough to consider the middle-fifties old. And what did we hear about him from Dr. Rich, the man who'd been his doctor and ought to know?"
H.M. craned his neck round and peered at Rich, who was gloomily regarding the floor.
"Do you remember savin', son, that you could have understood it very well if the charge of hypnotizing a woman in order to seduce her had been made against Hubert Fane?"
"I do," said Rich.
"And you consider that a pretty fair estimate of his character?" "I did and do."
"Uh-huh. Well, everything about Hubert Fane: the way he looked, the way he dressed, the way he acted: all indicated that he was a real sizzler. He liked his women young, the younger the better. He liked 'em delicate and fragile. Like Polly Allen, for instance. Or like-"
"Were you looking at me?" inquired Ann, as H.M. peered so strongly and obviously in her direction that she had to take notice. Ann colored up.
"Yes, my wench, I was. And I'd like to bet you that Hubert Fane had been makin' what we'll call advances to you. And that you were on the point of telling us so, when we kept mistakenly askin' you about Arthur's activities in that direction. Only you couldn't force yourself to do it.
"I remember how you looked at Adams's place, that Thursday afternoon by the clock-golf outfit, when we first talked about Polly Allen. You said with a pointed kind of emphasis that you didn't know Arthur well, but you did know his 'family.' You wouldn't refer to his wife like that. And he hadn't got any family: his father and mother died at a time you were in rompers. Any family, that is, except Hubert. Is that what you were tryin' to convey?"
"Yes," admitted Ann, and nodded her head violently.
Her face was scarlet.
"For some time?" asked H.M.
"Yes, for some time."
"What had he been doing?" inquired Vicky, with considerable interest.
"Now, now!" said H.M. austerely. "None o' that!"
"Well, it'd be interesting to know," Sharpless pointed out, with a broad and open grin. "But never mind. Go on, sir. Dish us out the dirt."
"So our good, harmless Hubert took up with Polly Allen. Whether or not because she reminded him of the girl who wasn't having any, I'll leave you to decide. I think t don't have to emphasize that. But now, my fatheads, I'd like to call your attention to an interestin' parallel. Has any of you ever heard of the Sandyford Place mystery?"
"Hoots!" cried Dr. Nithsdale, with rich scorn. "Whu doesna ken it?"
"I don't, for one," said Sharpless.
The little doctor glared at him. H.M. silenced them both.
"You'll find it in the Notable British Trials series. It happened at Glasgow in the early 'sixties. In Sandyford Place, off Sauchiehall Street—"
"Saw-ee-all Street," corrected Dr. Nithsdale sternly. "Mon, ye're pronunciation of Eenglish wad mak' an Eskimo shuver in a hot-hoose."
"All right. Saw-ee-all Street," said H.M., accepting the correction but unable to manage the proper gulp between the first two syllables. "One night when all the family were away from home except a servant girl named Jessie McPherson and a sanctimonious, holy old gent named James Fleming, the servant girl was murdered. Very nastily, with a chopper.
"I'm not goin' to argue the evidence, which is debated yet. A woman named McLachlan was eventually arrested, and gentle James Fleming released as the Crown's chief witness. At the trial, the judge referred to him as a 'dear old gentleman,' which same term has been applied to Hubert Fane.
"But it always seemed to me that Fleming killed the girl because she wouldn't give in to him, and made a row, and then he wanted to hush it up.To quote McLachlan: 'He just said it couldna be helped now, although he was very sorry.' It's certain that this dear old gentleman was a cantin' humbug—"
"Aye. One of ihe grea'est blackguards," agreed Dr. Nithsdale with pride, "that even Sco'land ever gave us."
"And on the night of July fifteenth, in this room," said H.M., "the same thing happened all over again."
There was a pause.
"Y'see, Hubert made a mistake. He'd been used to success. But he didn't know Polly Allen. As we've heard, she liked 'em young; she laughed at anybody over forty; and she didn't care a curse about money. That's why she was so 'amused,' as her friends said, when she set out for her mysterious date on that night.
"Hubert thought this was goin' to be easy. He chose a night when all the women were away, and Arthur was supposed to be workin' late at the office. Correct?"
"Yes," said Vicky.
"Of course nobody among Polly's friends had ever heard of any affair with Arthur Fane. There never had been any.
"So Hubert invited his languishin' prey here. And what happened? She laughed at him. You follow that? She laughed at him. And so the dear old gentleman lost his head and strangled her.
"Arthur, returnin' from the office earlier than was expected, found 'em here. The scene must have been pretty riotous. Hubert did just what old James Fleming is supposed to have done: offered money if Arthur would keep his mouth shut. Arthur said: 'Money? You haven't got a bean.' Whereat Hubert, however anguished at havin' to do it, produced evidence that opened Arthur's eyes.