The Mad Hatter Mystery dgf-2 Page 3

  When he thought about it afterwards, he knew that those last words Hadley spoke were the most horrible he had ever heard. It was not so much that a man had been found dead at the Tower of London. He had eaten horrors with a wide spoon during those days of the. Starberth case in Lincolnshire. But a corpse in a golfing suit, on which some satanic hand had placed the top-hat stolen from Sir William, was a final touch in the hideous. After' placing his stolen hats on cab horses, lamp-posts, and stone lions, this madman seemed to have created a corpse so that he could have at last a fitting place to hang his hat.

  The ride was endless. In the West End there had been a fairly light mist, but it thickened as they neared the river, and in Cannon Street it was almost dark, Sir William's chauffeur had to proceed with the utmost care. Hatless, his scarf wound crazily about his throat, strained forward with his hands gripping his knees, Sir William was jammed into the tonneau between Hadley and Dr Fell. Rampole sat on one of the small seats.

  Sir William was breathing heavily.

  `We'd better talk,' Dr Fell said in a gruff voice. `My dear sir, you will feel better… It's murder now, Hadley. Do you still want me?'

  `More than ever,' said the chief inspector.

  Dr Fell puffed out his cheeks meditatively.

  `Then if you don't mind, I should like' to ask…?’

  'Eh?' said Sir William, blankly. `Oh. No, no. Not at all. Carry on.' He kept peering ahead into the mist.

  The car bumped. Sir William turned and said: `I was very fond of the boy, you see"

  `Quite,' said Dr Fell, gruffly. `What did they tell you over the phone, Hadley?'

  `Just that. That the boy was dead; stabbed in some way. And that he wore a golf suit and Sir William's top-hat. It was a relay call from the Yard, Ordinarily, I shouldn't have

  got the call at all. The matter would have been handled by the local police station, unless they asked the Yard for help. But in this case

  `Well?'

  `I had a feeling that this damned hat business wasn't sheer sport. I left orders — and got smiled at behind my back for it, that if any further hat antics were discovered, they should be reported to the Yard by the local station, and sent through Sergeant Anders directly to me.'

  `How did the people at the Tower know it was Sir William's hat?'

  `I can tell you that,' snapped Sir William, rousing himself. `I'm tired of picking up the wrong hat when I go out in the evenings. All top-hats look alike in a row, and initials only confuse you. I have Bitton stamped in gold inside the crown of the formal ones, opera hats and silk ones; yes, and bowlers too, for that matter.' He was speaking rapidly and confusedly, and his mind was on other things. `Yes, and come to think of it, that was a new hat, too. I bought it when I bought the Homburg, because my other. opera hat got its spring broken…'

  He paused, and brushed a hand over blank eyes.

  `Ha,' he went on, dully, `Odd. That's odd. You said my "stolen" hat, Hadley. Yes, the top-hat was stolen. That's, quite right; how did you know it was the stolen hat they found on Philip?'

  Hadley was irritable. 'I don't know. They told me over the phone. But they said General Mason discovered the body, and so..;'

  `Ah,' muttered Sir William, nodding and pinching the bridge of his nose. `Yes. Mason was at the house on Sunday, and I daresay I told him. I.'

  Dr Fell leaned forward, So,' he said, `it was a new hat, Sir' William,?'

  `Yes. I told you °

  'An opera hat,' Dr Fell mused, `which you were wearing for the first time…. When was it stolen'?'

  `Eh? Oh. Saturday night. When I was coming home from the theatre. We'd turned off Piccadilly into Berkeley Street.

  It was a muggy night, rather warm, and all the windows of

  the car were down. Just opposite Lansdowne Passage. Simpson slowed down to let some sort of blind man with a tray of pencils, or something, get across the street. Then somebody jumped out of the shadows near the entrance to the passage, thrust his arm into the rear of the car, twitched off my hat, and ran.'

  `What did you do?'

  `Nothing. I was too startled.'

  `Did you chase the man?'

  `And look a fool? Good God! No.'

  `So naturally; said Dr Fell, `you didn't report it. Did you catch a glimpse of the man?'

  `No. It was too sudden, I tell you. Flick, and it was gone. Ha. Damn him. And now…. You see,' Sir William muttered, hesitantly, turning his head from, side to side `you see… Never mind the hat; I'm thinking about Philip. I never treated him as I should, I was as fond of him as a son. But I always acted the Dutch uncle. Kept him on a starvation allowance, always threatened to cut him off, and always told him how worthless he was. I don't know why I did it, but every time I saw that boy I wanted to preach. He had no idea of the value of money'

  The limousine slid among red houses, and street lamps, made pale gleams through its windows in a canopy of mist. Emerging from Mark Lane, it swerved round the Monument and descended Tower Hill.

  Rampole could see nothing more than a few feet ahead. Lamps winked in smoky twilight, and the immensity which should have been the river was full of short, sharp whistle blasts answered by deeper hootings from a distance.

  When the limousine passed through the gate in the rails surrounding the whole enclosure, Rampole tried to rub the blur from the window to peer out. Vaguely he saw a dry moat paved in white concrete, with a forlorn hockey-net near the middle. The drive swung to the left, past a frame building he remembered as the ticket-office and refreshment room, and under an arch flanked by low, squat round towers. Just under this, arch they were brought up short. A sentry, in the high black shako and grey uniform of the Spur Guard, moved out smartly and crossed his rifle on his, breast. The limousine slithered to a halt and Hadley sprang out.

  In the dim, ghostly half-light another figure emerged at the sentry's side. It was one of the Yeoman Warders, buttoned up in a short blue cloak and wearing the red-and-blue Beefeater hat. He said:

  `Chief Inspector Hadley?…Thank you. If you'll' follow me, sir…?'

  Hadley asked, shortly: 'Who is in charge?'

  'The chief warder, sir, under the orders of the deputy governor. These gentlemen…?''

  'My associates. This is Sir William Bitton. What has been done?'

  'The chief warder will explain, sir. The young gentleman's body was discovered by. General Mason.' 'Where?'

  'I believe it was on the steps leading down to Traitors' Gate, sir. You know, of course, that the warders are sworn in as special constables. General Mason suggested that, as you were a friend of the young gentleman's uncle, we communicate directly with you instead of with the district police station.'

  'Precautions?'

  'An order has been issued that no one is to enter or leave the Tower until permission has been given.'

  'Good! You had better leave instructions to admit the police surgeon and his associates when they arrive.'

  'Yes, sir.' He spoke briefly to the sentry, and led them under the arch of the Tower.

  A stone bridge led across the moat from this (called the Middle Tower) to another and larger tower, with circular bastions, whose arch formed the entrance to the outer walls.

  Grey-black, picked out with whitish stones, these heavy defences ran left and right; but the damp mist was so thick that the entrance was entirely invisible.

  Just under the arch of this next tower, another figure appeared with the same eerie suddenness as the others: a thick, rather short man with a straight back, his hands thrust into the pockets of a dripping waterproof. A soft hat was drawn down on his brows. He came forward, peering, as he heard their muffled footfalls on the road.

  He said: `Good God, Bitton! How did you get here?' Then he hurried up to grasp Sir William's hand.

  `Never mind,' Sir William answered, stolidly. 'Thanks, Mason. Where have you got him?'

  The other man looked into his face. He wore a gingery moustache and imperial, drooping with the damp there were furrows in his dull-coloured f
ace and lines round his hard, bright unwinking eyes.

  'Good man!' he said releasing his hand. `This is?'

  'Chief Inspector Hadley. Dr Fell. Mr Rampole… General Mason,' explained Sir William, jerking his head. 'Where is he, Mason? I want to see him.'

  General Mason took his arm. 'You understand; of course, that we couldn't disturb the body until the police arrived. He's where we found him. That's correct, isn't it, Mr Hadley?'

  'Quite correct, General. If you will show us the place…? Thank you. I'm afraid we shall have to leave him there, though, until the police surgeon examines him.'

  `For God's' sake, Mason,' Sir. William said, in a low voice, 'how was he killed?'

  General Mason drew a hand hard over his moustache and imperial. It was his only sign of nervousness. He said:

  'It appears to be a crossbow bolt, from what I can judge. There's about four inches projecting from his chest, and the point barely came out the other…. Excuse me. A crossbow bolt. We have some in the armoury. Straight through the heart. Intantaneous death, Bitton. No pain whatever.'

  `You mean,' said the chief inspector, `he was shot… '

  `Or stabbed with it like a dagger. More likely the latter. Come and look at him, Mr Hadley and then take charge of my court he nodded towards the Tower behind him `in there. I'm using the Warders' Hall as a third degree room.’

  `What about visitors? They tell me you've given orders nobody is to leave.'

  `Yes. Fortunately, it's a bad day and there aren't many visitors. Also, fortunately, the fog is very thick down in the well around the steps of Traitors' Gate; I don't think a passer-by would notice him there. So far as I'm aware, nobody knows about it yet. When the visitors try to leave, they are stopped at the gate and told that an accident has happened; we're trying to make them comfortable until you can talk to them.'

  Ahead of them the hard road ran arrow-straight. Towards the left, a little distance beyond the long arch beneath which they stood, Rampole could see the murky outlines of another round tower. Joining it, a high wall ran parallel with the road. And Rampole remembered now. This left-hand wall was the defence of the inner fortress; roughly, a square within a square. On their right ran the outer wall, giving on the wharf. Thus was formed a lane some twenty-five or thirty feet broad, which stretched the whole length of the enclosure on the riverside. For perhaps a hundred yards along this road General Mason led them; then he stopped and pointed towards the right.

  `St Thomas's Tower,' he said. `And that's the Traitors' Gate under it.'

  Traitors' Gate was a long, flattened arch of stone, like the hood of an unholy fireplace in the thick wall. From the level of the road, sixteen broad stone steps led down to the floor of a large paved area, which had once been the bed of the Thames. For originally this had been the gateway to the Tower by water; the river had flowed in at a level with the topmost steps, and barges had moved under the arch to their mooring. There were the ancient barriers, closed as of old: two heavy gates of oaken timbers and vertical iron bars, with an oaken lattice stretching above them to fill in the arch. Thames-wharf had been built up beyond, and the vast area below was now dry.

  General Mason took an electric torch from his pocket, snapped it on, and directed the beam towards the ground. A warder had been standing motionless near the fence; and the General gestured with his light.

  `Stand at the gate of the Bloody Tower,' he said, `and don't let anybody come near… Now, gentlemen. I don't think we need to climb this fence. I've been down once before.'

  Just before the beam of his flashlight moved down the steps, Rampole felt almost a physical nausea. Then he saw it.

  The thing lay with its head near the foot of the stairs, on its right side, and sprawled as though it had rolled down the entire flight of steps. Philip Driscoll wore a suit of heavy tweed, with plus fours, golf stockings, and thick shoes. As General Mason's light moved along the body, they saw the dull gleam of several inches of steel projecting from the left breast. Apparently the wound had not bled much.

  The face was flung up towards them, just as the chest was slightly arched to show the bolt in the heart. White and waxy, the face was, with eyelids nearly closed; it had a stupid, sponged expression which would not have been terrifying at all but for the hat.

  That opera hat had not been crushed in the fall. It was much too large for Philip Driscoll; whether it had been jammed on or merely dropped on his head, it came down nearly to his eyes, and flattened out his ears grotesquely.

  General Mason switched off the light.

  'You see?' he said out of the dimness. `If that hat hadn't looked so weird, I shouldn't have taken it off at all, and seen your name inside it… Mr Hadley, do you want to make an examination now, or shall you wait for the police surgeon?'

  `Give me your torch, please,' the chief-inspector requested. He snapped on the light again and swung it round. `How did you happen to find him, General?'

  `There's more of a story connected with that,' the deputy governor replied, `than I can tell you: The prelude to it you can hear from the people who saw him here when he arrived, earlier in the afternoon.'

  When was that?'

  `The time he arrived? Somewhere about twenty minutes past one, I believe; I wasn't here…. Dalrye, my secretary, drove me from the middle of town in my car, and we got here at precisely, two-thirty. We drove along Water Lane… this road.. and Dalrye let me out at the gate of the Bloody Tower, directly opposite us.'

  They peered into the gloom. The gate of the Bloody Tower was in the inner ballium wall, facing them across the road. They could see the teeth of the raised portcullis over it, and beyond, a gravelled road which led up to higher ground.

  'My own quarters are in the King's House, inside that wall. I was just inside the gate, and Dalrye was driving off down Water Lane to put the car away, when I remembered that I had to speak to Sir Leonard Haldyne.'

  Sir Leonard Haldyne?'

  `The Keeper of the Jewel House. He lives on the other side of St Thomas's Tower. Turn on your light, please; now move it over to the right, just at the side of Traitors' Gate arch… There, The misty beam showed a heavy iron-bound door sunk in the thick wall. `That leads to a staircase going up to the oratory, and Sir Leonard's quarters are on the other side.

  'By this time, in addition to the fog, it was raining. I came across Water Lane, and took hold of the railing here in front of the steps to guide me over to the door. What made me look down I don't know. Anyhow, I did glance down. I couldn't see anything clearly, but by what I did see I knew something was wrong. I climbed over the railing, went down cautiously, and struck a match. I found him.'

  `What did you do then?'

  It was obviously murder,' the general continued, without seeming to notice the question. 'A man who stabs himself can't drive a steel bolt through his own chest so far that the point comes out under his shoulder-blade; certainly not such a small and weak person as young Driscoll. And he had clearly been dead for some time… the body was growing cold.

  `Young Dalrye was coming back from the garage then, and I hailed him. I didn't tell him who the dead man was. He's engaged to Sheila Bitton, and well, you shall hear. But I told him to send one of the warders for Dr Benedict.

  'Who is that?'

  `The chief of staff in charge of the army hospital here. I told Dalrye to go to the White Tower and find Mr Radburn, the chief warder. He generally finishes his afternoon round at the White Tower at two-thirty. I also told him to leave instructions that nobody was to leave the Tower by any gate. I knew it was a useless precaution, because Driscoll had been dead some time and the murderer had every opportunity for a getaway; but it was the only thing to do.'

  `Just a moment,' interposed Hadley. `How many gates are there through the outer walls?'

  `Three, not counting the Queen's Gate, nobody could get through there. There's the main gate, under the Middle Tower, through which you came. And two more giving on the wharf. They are both in this lane, by the way, some distance farther
down.'

  `Sentries?'

  `Naturally. A Spur Guard at every gate, and a warder also. But if you're looking for a description of somebody who went out, I'm afraid it's useless. Thousands of visitors use those gates every day. Some of the warders have a habit of amusing themselves by cataloguing the people who go in and out, but it's been foggy all day and raining part of the time. Unless the murderer is some sort of freak, he had a thousand-to-one chance of having escaped unnoticed.'

  `Damn!' said Hadley, under his breath. `Go on, General.'

  `That's about all. Dr Benedict — he's on his rounds now — confirmed my own diagnosis. He said that Driscoll had been dead at least three-quarters of an hour when I found him, and probably longer?

  General Mason hesitated.

  `There's a strange, an incredible story concerned' with Driscoll's activities here this afternoon. Either the boy went mad, or.. another sharp gesture. `I suggest that you look at him, Mr Hadley; then we can talk more comfortably in the Warders' Hall.'

  Hadley nodded. He turned to Dr Fell. `Can you manage the fence?'

  Dr Fell's big bulk had been towering silently in the background, hunched into his cloak like a bandit. Several times General Mason had looked at him sharply. He was obviously wondering about this stout man with the shovel hat and the wheezy walk; wondering who he was and why he was there.

  `No,' said the doctor. `I'm not so spry as all that. But I don't think it's necessary. Carry on; I'll watch from here.'

  The chief inspector drew on his gloves and climbed the barrier. A luminous circle from his flashlight preceded him down the, steps.

  First he carefully noted the position of the body, and made some sketches and markings in a notebook, with the torch propped under one arm. He flexed the muscles, rolled the body slightly over, and felt at the base of the skull. Most meticulously he examined the pavement of the area; then he returned to the few inches of steel projecting from the chest. It had been polished steel, rounded and thin, and it was not notched at the end as in the case of an arrow.