The Ponson Case

paid his bill and got ready to leave the restaurant. At last the others made a move, Cosgrove dropping the cigarette end into the saucer of his coffee cup. Tanner moved aside, and turned his back till they had passed, then returning to his table as if he had forgotten something, he rapidly picked up the cigarette end, quenched it and dropped it into one of the little boxes he always carried. Then he hurried out after his quarry, and as they took another taxi, reentered his own.

This time they had a longer run. It was not till they reached Lyme Avenue, Chelsea, that the chase ended. There at the door of a block of flats the two dismounted. But Cosgrove did not go in. When the lady had disappeared he returned to his taxi, and started back towards London. Tanner’s driver had run on towards the end of the road, but he skilfully manoeuvred for position, and soon was back in his own place behind the other.

At the door of the Huntingdon Club in Piccadilly, Cosgrove dismounted, paid off his driver and entered the building. This suiting Tanner’s plans as well as anything else, he also paid his man, and after a few minutes followed Cosgrove into the club.

Handing the porter another of his false cards⁠—Mr. Percival Hepworth-Jones, The Constitutional⁠—he asked for Cosgrove, and was shown into a waiting-room.

In about ten minutes Cosgrove appeared⁠—a questioning, puzzled look on his thin, good-looking face.

“I must apologise, Mr. Ponson,” began the Inspector, “for sending in a card which is not my own. You are wondering where you have seen me before?”

“I confess that I am. I know your face, but I can’t recall our meeting.”

“We didn’t meet, but you saw me at the inquest at Luce Manor. I am Inspector Tanner of Scotland Yard, and I have been put in charge of the case.”

The Inspector, who was watching the other keenly, noticed a sudden look flash across his face and then disappear. It was not exactly a look of alarm. Rather was it that of a man brought suddenly face to face with a danger he had long recognised⁠—a kind of bracing of himself to meet a crisis which was at last at hand. But his manner was free from any trace of anxiety as he motioned his visitor to a chair.

“Ah yes,” he said, “of course. I remember now. My cousin, Austin Ponson, told me about you. So you fear my uncle’s end might have been suicide? It is a horrible idea, and you won’t mind my saying that I cannot but think you are wrong. He was not at all that kind of man.”

“So I am beginning to think, Mr. Ponson. But orders are orders. I have been told to investigate and report, and I must do so.”

Cosgrove agreed and they conversed for some time. Tanner asked a good many questions, but without learning anything of interest. Then at last he came to the real object of his visit. Speaking very much as he had done to Austin, he asked Cosgrove to state his own movements on the fatal Wednesday night. Cosgrove, unlike Austin, got on his high horse.

“Really, Inspector, I think that’s a little too much. Why should I tell you anything of the kind? What has it to do with the affair?”

Tanner could be direct enough when he saw cause.

“Why this, Mr. Ponson,” he answered, still watching the other keenly. “As you must see, the possibility of suicide involves that of murder also. The question I have asked you is asked in such cases as a matter of course to everyone interested.”

Cosgrove started slightly at the last words.

“Interested?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that? Do you think I was interested?”

“Mr. Ponson, as reasonable men we must both see that you were interested. You will forgive me⁠—I don’t wish to be offensive⁠—but it is common knowledge that you are in low water financially, and that you benefit considerably under the will.”

“Good Heavens!” Ponson cried angrily, “and do you actually mean to say you suspect me of murdering Sir William?”

“I mean nothing of the kind, Mr. Ponson. I only want to justify myself in asking you the question to which you have just objected.”

Cosgrove did not reply. At last Tanner went on in a courteous tone:

“Obviously, I cannot force you to answer me, Mr. Ponson. But it must be clear to you that should you decline you may raise suspicions which, no matter how unfounded, are bound to be unpleasant. Please don’t think I am speaking threateningly. You can see the matter as clearly as I.”

The Inspector’s moderation appeared to bring Cosgrove, to a decision. He moved nervously, and then replied:

“I suppose you are right, Inspector, and that I have no cause to resent your inquiries. I haven’t the slightest objection to telling you where I was when you explain yourself as you have just done.”

“I am much obliged. It will save me a lot of trouble.”

Cosgrove settled himself more comfortably in his armchair.

“I remember that Wednesday night,” he began, “for I did one of the silliest things that night that I have ever been guilty of, and I think I may say without bragging I am usually as wide awake as most people. But I shall tell you.

“You know, or perhaps you don’t, that I go in a good deal for racing. I have a small stable not far from Bath, and I make a bit off dealing and training as well as on the course. For some time I have wanted another horse, and there was one for sale near Montrose that seemed the thing, so much so that I determined to run down and see it. I have a good many engagements, mostly of a social kind, and I found that the only day I could go was the Thursday of last week⁠—the day after my poor Uncle disappeared. There was an ‘At Home’ at the Duchess of Frothingham’s on the