But it was evident that the matter could not be left where it stood. It must be gone into and its monstrous suggestion must be proved or rebutted.
French’s hand stole toward his pocket and half unconsciously he filled and lit his pipe, puffing out clouds of blue smoke while he thought over this latest development. If the confession were genuine and if Roper were blackmailing Philpot, Philpot would want to get rid of Roper. Could it therefore be possible that Philpot was in some way mixed up with the Starvel crime? Not personally of course; there was medical evidence that the doctor was ill in bed at the time of the tragedy. But could he be involved in some way that French could not at the moment fathom? It seemed too farfetched to consider seriously, and yet here was undoubtedly a connection with Roper of the most extraordinary kind.
But this was sheer idiocy! French pulled himself together. An inspector of his service ought to know better than to jump to conclusions! Hadn’t bitter experience again and again taught him its folly? Let him get hold of his data first.
And then French recalled the statement of the landlord of the Thirsdale Arms in Thirsby. He had taken all that the landlord had said with a grain of salt—gossips were seldom entirely reliable—but if Philpot had been gambling to the extent of embarrassing himself financially. … It was worth looking into anyway.
Obviously the first thing was to make sure that the Philpot of the confession really was the Thirsby doctor. This at least was easy. He sent for a medical directory and traced the Thirsby man’s career. A few seconds gave him his information.
Herbert Philpot was born in , making him now 39 years old. He passed through Edinburgh University, taking his final in . For a year he was at sea and for two more years he worked in one of the Edinburgh hospitals. In he was appointed junior assistant at the Ransome Institution at Kintilloch, where he remained for eight years. In —four months after the date of the confession, French noted—he set up for himself in Thirsby.
So that was that. French’s interest grew as he considered the matter. If the confession were genuine, the affair would be something in the nature of a scoop, not only for himself personally, but even for the great organisation of the Yard. It would create a first-class sensation. The powers that be would be pleased and certain kudos and possible promotion would be forthcoming.
French left the Yard and drove to the office of The Scotsman in Fleet Street. There he asked to see the files of the paper for the year , and turning to the month of , he began a search for news of an accident to a Mrs. Philpot at Kintilloch.
He found it sooner than he had expected. On the , two days after , there was a short paragraph headed “Tragic Death of a Doctor’s Wife.” It read:—
“The little town of Kintilloch, Fife, has been thrown into mourning by the tragic death on Tuesday evening of Mrs. Edna Philpot, wife of Dr. Herbert Philpot, one of the staff of the Ransome Institute. The deceased lady in some way tripped while descending the stairs at her home, falling down the lower flight. Dr. Philpot, who was in his study, heard her cry and rushed out to find her lying unconscious in the hall. She was suffering from severe concussion and in spite of all his efforts she passed away in a few minutes, even before the arrival of Dr. Ferguson, for whom Dr. Philpot had hurriedly telephoned. Mrs. Philpot took a prominent part in the social life of the town and her loss will be keenly felt.”
“It’s suggestive enough,” French thought, as he copied out the paragraph. “It looks as if she had been alone with him in the house. I must get more details.”
He returned to the Yard and put through a telephone call to the Detective Department of the Edinburgh police, asking that any information about the accident be sent him as soon as possible.
While he was waiting for a reply his thoughts reverted to Whymper. He was rather troubled in his mind about the young architect. While he was now strongly inclined to believe in his innocence, he was still not certain of it, and he hesitated upon starting off on this new inquiry until he had made up his mind definitely about the other matter. But some further thought showed him that there was no special reason for coming to an immediate decision about Whymper. Sergeant Kent was keeping him under police supervision and might well continue to do so for a day or two more.
Two days later French received a voluminous dossier of the case from the authorities in Scotland. There were cuttings from several papers as well as three columns from the Kintilloch Weekly Argus. There was a detailed report from the local sergeant embodying a short history of all concerned, and a copy of Dr. Ferguson’s certificate of “death from concussion, resulting from a fall.” Finally there was a covering letter from the head of the department, marked “confidential,” which stated that, owing to some dissatisfaction in the mind of the local superintendent, the matter had been gone into more fully than might otherwise have been the case, but that this inquiry having evolved no suspicious circumstances, the affair had been dropped.
Considerably impressed and beginning to think he was on a hot scent, French settled down to study the documents in detail. And the more he did so, the more determined he became that he would sift the affair to the bottom. Apart from the possible murder of Mrs. Philpot and the bringing of her murderer to justice, he saw that if such a crime had been committed it
