Sir Clinton mechanically smoothed out his papers, glanced at them, and then continued:
"The police can’t always choose their instruments, Dr. Markfield. We have to take witnesses where we can get them. Frankly, then, the late Mr. Whalley was not an admirable character—far from it. He’d come upon a man and a girl alone in a car, and the girl was apparently not in a fit state to look after herself. An affair of this sort would bring two ideas into Mr. Whalley’s mind. Clothing them in vulgar language, they’d be: ‘Here’s a bit o’ fun, my word!’ and ‘What is there in it for me?’ He had a foible for trading on the weaknesses of his fellow-creatures, you understand?"
Markfield nodded grimly, but made no audible comment.
"The late Mr. Whalley, then, stared after the car; and, to his joy, no doubt, he saw it turn in at the gate of the bungalow. He guessed the place was empty, since there hadn’t been a light showing in it when he passed it a minute or two before. Not much need to analyse Mr. Whalley’s ideas in detail, is there? He made up his mind that a situation of this sort promised him some fun after his own heart, quite apart from any little financial pickings he might make out of it later on, if he were lucky. So he made his best pace after the car."
Sir Clinton turned over a page of the notes before him and, glancing at the document, knitted his brows slightly.
"The late Mr. Whalley wasn’t a perfect witness of course, and I’m inclined to think that at this point I can supply a missing detail in the story. A second car came on the scene round about this period—a car driving in towards town—and it must have met the car with the man and the girl in it just about this time. But that’s not in Mr. Whalley’s statement. It’s only a surmise of my own, and not really essential."
Inspector Flamborough had been growing more and more puzzled as this narrative unfolded. He could not imagine how the Chief Constable had accumulated all this information. Suddenly the explanation crossed his mind.
"Lord! He’s bluffing! He’s trying to persuade Markfield that we know all about it already. These are just inferences of his; and he’s put the double bluff on Markfield by pretending that Whalley’s statement wasn’t quite full and that he’s filling the gap with a guess of his own. What a nerve!" he commented to himself.
"By the time the late Mr. Whalley reached the bungalow gate," Sir Clinton pursued, "the man had got the girl out of the car and both of them had gone into the house. Mr. Whalley, it seems, went gingerly up the approach, and, as he did so, alight went on in one of the front rooms of the bungalow. The curtains were drawn. The late Mr. Whalley, with an eye to future profit, took the precaution of noting the number of the motor, which was standing at the front door."
Flamborough glanced at Markfield to see what effect Sir Clinton was producing. To his surprise, the chemist seemed in no way perturbed. With a gesture as though asking permission, he leaned over and ran a little of the liquid from the funnel into the flask, shook the mixture gently for a moment or two, and then turned back to Sir Clinton. The Inspector, watching keenly, could see no tremor in his hand as he carried out the operations.
"The late Mr. Whalley," Sir Clinton continued, when Markfield had finished his work. "The late Mr. Whalley did not care about hanging round the front of the bungalow. If he stood in front of the lighted window, anyone passing on the road would be able to see him outlined against the glare; and that might have led to difficulties. So he passed round to the second window of the same room, which looked out on the side of the bungalow and was therefore not so conspicuous from the road. Just as he turned the corner of the building, he heard a second car stop at the gate."
Sir Clinton paused here, as though undecided about the next part of his narrative. He glanced at Markfield, apparently to see whether he was paying attention; then he proceeded.
"The late Mr. Whalley tip-toed along to this side-window of the lighted room, and, much to his delight, I’ve no doubt, he found that the curtains had been carelessly drawn, so that a chink was left between them through which he could peep into the room. He stepped on to the flower-bed, bent down, and peered through the aperture. I hope I make myself clear, Dr. Markfield?"
"Quite," said Markfield curtly.
Sir Clinton nodded in acknowledgment, glanced once more at his papers as though to refresh his memory, and continued:
"What he saw was this. The girl was lying in an armchair near the fireplace. The late Mr. Whalley, again misled by his limited experience, thought she’d fallen asleep—the effects of alcohol, he supposed, I believe. The young man who was with her—we may save the trouble by calling him Hassendean, I think—seemed rather agitated, but not quite in the way that the late Mr. Whalley had anticipated. Hassendean spoke to the girl and got no reply, evidently. He shook her gently, and so on; but he got no response. I think we may cut out the details. The net result was that to Mr. Whalley’s inexperienced eye, the girl looked very far gone. Hassendean seemed to be thunderstruck by the situation, which puzzled the late Mr. Whalley considerably at the time."
Markfield, apparently unimpressed, leaned across and ran some more of the liquid out of his funnel. Flamborough guessed the movement might be intended to conceal his features from easy observation.
"The next stage in the proceedings took the late Mr. Whalley by surprise, it seems," Sir Clinton went on. "Leaving the girl where she was, young Hassendean left the room for a minute or two. When he came back, he had a pistol in his hand. This was not at all what the late Mr. Whalley had been expecting. Least of all did he expect to see young Hassendean go up to the girl, and shoot her in the head at close quarters. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the feelings of the late Mr. Whalley at this stage, Dr. Markfield."
"Surprising," Markfield commented abruptly.
Sir Clinton nodded in agreement.
"What must have been even more surprising was the sequel. The glass of the front window broke with a blow, and from behind the curtains a man appeared, who fell upon Hassendean. There was a struggle, a couple of shots from Hassendean’s pistol, and then Hassendean fell on the ground—dead, as Whalley supposed at the time."
Flamborough stared hard at Markfield, but at that moment the chemist again turned in his chair, ran the remainder of the liquid from the funnel into his flask, and then refilled the funnel from the bottle on the tray. This done, he turned once more with an impassive face to Sir Clinton.
"By this time, the late Mr. Whalley seems to have seen all that he wanted. Just as he was turning away from the window, he noticed the new-comer take some small object from his waistcoat pocket and drop it on the floor. Then Mr. Whalley felt it was time to make himself scarce. He stepped back on to the path, made his way round the bungalow, hurried down the approach to the gate. There he came across a car—evidently the one in which the assailant had arrived. The late Mr. Whalley, even at this stage, was not quite free from his second idea: ‘What is there in it for me?’ He took the number of the car, and then he made himself scarce."
Sir Clinton stopped for a moment or two and gazed across at Markfield with an inscrutable face.
"By the way, Dr. Markfield," he added in a casual tone, "what was the pet name that Mrs. Silverdale used to call you when you were alone together—the one beginning with ‘B’?"
This time, it was evident to the Inspector, Sir Clinton had got home under Markfield’s guard. The chemist glanced up with more than a shade of apprehension on his face. He seemed to be making a mental estimate of the situation before he replied.
"H’m! You know that, do you?" he said finally. "Then there’s no use denying it, I suppose. She used to call me ‘Bear’ usually. She said I had the manners of one, at times; and perhaps there was something in that."