‘Cromer’s disappearance?’
Cribb nodded. ‘That was calculated to force us into action. With Howard on the run like a guilty man, we would need to consider extradition. The gamble was that in order to obtain a warrant, we would have to arrange a pardon for Miriam Cromer. As soon as she was pardoned Howard would surrender to the police. He would announce that he had an alibi for the morning of the murder, and Allingham would confirm it.’
‘But that would confirm his wife’s guilt,’ said Jowett.
Cribb had waited for this. ‘Autrefois Convict.’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Don’t you have French, sir? A legal expression. It dates back to common law. A person cannot be prosecuted twice for the same offence. Even if we knew Miriam Cromer was a murderess and brought her up before a magistrate, she could plead Autrefois Convict and walk out a free woman.’
‘I am aware of the law, Cribb,’ said Jowett sourly. ‘It was the terminology that escaped me.’
In case something else escaped the Chief Inspector, Cribb said, ‘It was a very cunning idea, sir, not easy to unravel. But like all ideas it depended on people to carry it out. Their nerves were tested to the limit. Miriam Cromer in the death-cell waiting for Howard to make his move. Howard, who had to tread the tightrope between supplying information and concealing it. Allingham, the architect of the plan, knowing either of the others could ruin it and destroy his career. Howard was the first to put a foot wrong. The unforeseen intervened, in the person of the bearded man they decided was a detective. I still don’t know who he was-probably never will. I was livid when I heard about him, but on consideration I have to admit he did us a good turn. Howard Cromer was so anxious for an indication that the police had taken his bait that he assumed this visitor was one of ours, instead of some morbidly-inclined member of the public. By inviting the man in, humouring him and taking his picture, he showed how desperate he was to interest the police in himself. And of course I heard of it from Allingham, who was no less interested to confirm whether the man was from the Yard. It was an instructive incident, and it need never have happened if Cromer had politely sent the man away. It made me think.’
‘I must say, I thought it suspicious myself.’
Cribb disregarded the contribution. ‘The next day Howard Cromer vanished.’
‘The trump card.’
‘I couldn’t ignore it,’ said Cribb. ‘I decided to make use of it myself-to secure the meeting with Miriam Cromer. She surprised me. I didn’t expect to be confronted by a woman so fully in command of herself. The only way I could see of getting at the truth was persuading her that we had swallowed the story and simply wanted evidence of Howard’s guilt. I thought she might become over-confident. That, as you know, is what happened. She wasn’t satisfied with the original plan. She had thought of an improvement. Instead of letting us draw our own conclusions as to Howard’s guilt, she proceeded to confirm them, and she expected Allingham, out of regard for her, to withhold the alibi. Then she would be pardoned; Howard would hang and she could begin a new life with Allingham, who had always admired her. She believed she could count on Allingham’s co-operation by convincing him that Howard had murdered Judith Honeycutt and so deserved to hang.’
‘For another murder?’ said Jowett. ‘That’s perverted logic, if ever I heard it.’
‘Ten weeks in custody had given her time to fashion the facts to suit her purpose,’ said Cribb. ‘She overreached herself. Allingham might have allowed emotion to over-rule his judgment until he heard what Lottie Piper had confided to me-that Howard had engaged to marry Judith Honeycutt. Nothing had been said at the inquest about that betrothal, nor had Allingham been told of it. He saw in a flash that Miriam had had the motive for murdering Judith: she had wanted Howard for herself.’
Jowett stared bolt-eyed at Cribb. ‘She murdered the Honeycutt girl as well?’
‘I’m sure of it. Proving it now would help nobody, but it’s the only explanation. Consider how she behaved under the threat of blackmail. For weeks she said nothing to her husband about her ordeal. She made her own arrangements to meet Perceval’s demands-and it’s no light matter for a woman of her class to enter a pawnshop. Yet why didn’t she take Howard into her confidence? He knew about the photographs: he was the photographer. If the danger were simply the threat of scandal to their livelihood it would have been natural for her to turn to him, but she didn’t. There was a greater danger that only Miriam Cromer understood. Imagine what Howard Cromer’s reaction would have been to the news that the wife he worshipped was threatened with blackmail by his assistant. He would have been outraged. To submit to a cheap threat of that sort was unthinkable. I believe he would have dismissed Perceval instantly from his employment and threatened him with prosecution. Howard, you see, could not appreciate the greater danger to his wife-that Perceval by chance had unearthed a link in the chain that led to Judith Honeycutt’s murder. It was safer, Miriam Cromer decided, to make the payments herself, buy the photographs and say nothing to Howard, who still believed Judith’s death was due to suicide. So that was what she did, until the fateful day when Perceval told her he was going to Hampstead to try to buy the plates. The thing she feared most was about to happen. Perceval would trace the name of Julian Ducane and very probably learn the story of Judith’s death. What Miriam had thought was buried was about to be disinterred. She decided to poison Perceval as she had poisoned Judith.’
‘So callous!’ Jowett exclaimed. He shook his head. ‘And such a fine-looking woman. A picture.’
‘A picture,’ Cribb repeated, thinking his own thoughts.
The cab turned left in Great Scotland Yard. ‘Sergeant, I salute you!’ Jowett said in a fit of generosity. ‘Between us, by Jove, we have saved the law from a contemptible plot. I shall put you down here. You may be sure that everything you have told me will be conveyed to the Commissioner. In my own words. Depend upon it, I shall omit nothing of importance.’
Cribb got out of the cab, touched his hat and made his way unimportantly home.
MONDAY, 25th JUNE
Towards midnight, James Berry turned the latchkey and let himself into his house in Bilton Place, Bradford. He was quiet about it. Upstairs the three youngsters and his mother-in-law would be asleep.
His wife came along the passage with a candle. He put down his leather bag and kissed her. ‘You’re later than usual,’ she said. ‘Nothing went wrong?’
He shook his head.
‘It were a woman, weren’t it?’
‘Aye.’
‘She deserved to go, didn’t she?’
‘It were never in doubt,’ said Berry.
‘What kept you in London, Jim?’
‘Business.’ He had finished his work in Newgate by ten; it had taken almost an hour to penetrate the crowd outside Tussaud’s. One of the police had told him ten thousand were massed in the Marylebone Road. ‘Average in my experience,’ the constable had said. ‘Funny old world, isn’t it, when ten thousand turn up to see one more sinner installed in the Chamber of Horrors? I know they are the actual clothes she wore in the dock, but it’s still only a waxwork. That’s all they’ve come to see-one figure in wax.’ Berry had murmured, ‘Two,’ and modestly moved on.
‘I kept some stew,’ his wife said. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’