The Ponson Case

he faked that business about the shoes. Yes, I know,” as Daunt would have spoken, “his story about the shoes seems all right, and it’s very clever, but it won’t wash. He was seen there, and he was there. Then Cosgrove was there, for you’ve proved that. And lastly this man Douglas was there also, for I saw his footmarks on the boathouse floor. Yes, they were all there, and there’s some conspiracy between them.”

Though Daunt had to admit this conclusion seemed sound, it was by no means what he wished the Inspector to arrive at. His business was to clear Austin, and while the bringing in of first Cosgrove and now this man Douglas had at the time seemed all to the good, it did not help if it merely led to a conspiracy charge. But Tanner’s voice broke into his cogitations.

“You see,” the detective said, following on his own line of thought, “they were together in London. Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove lunched together⁠—both Austin and Cosgrove denying it, mind you⁠—and then immediately Sir William went to see Douglas. There was some business between the four of them. There’s not a doubt of it.”

It gave Daunt a nasty shock to recall that Austin had to him also denied having seen Sir William on that Monday. If it could be proved that Austin had lied about this, as apparently it could, what reliance could be placed on any of his other statements?

There was silence for some moments, and then Daunt moved impatiently.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he asked.

“Get the names of that taxi-man and those other witnesses from you,” the Inspector answered promptly, “and check over your conclusions about Cosgrove. Not that I doubt you, of course, but it’s business. Then if I’m satisfied, I’ll arrest him. Among his or Douglas’s papers there’ll be surely something to put us on the track.”

When Tanner had taken his leave Daunt sat motionless for some minutes, thinking over what he had just heard. And the more he thought, the less he liked the turn affairs had taken. All his doubts as to Austin’s innocence had returned. If his client had really met Sir William on the Monday in question, why had he denied it? It would take an even more ingenious explanation to account for it than that he had given about the shoes.

To satisfy himself, when his work for the day was finished, Daunt put a photograph of Austin in his pocket and drove to the Étoile restaurant in Soho. But a few moments’ inquiry was sufficient to convince him. Austin had been there beyond question, and therefore his statement to Daunt had been a direct falsehood.

Sorely puzzled as to what he should say to Lois, Jimmy Daunt returned to his rooms. There after much thought he decided he would see Austin next morning and tax him directly with the lie.

Another point had been worrying him. He recalled his surprise at the manner in which Austin had received the news of his and Lois’s discovery that Cosgrove had been at the boathouse on the fatal night. Austin had professed incredulity, but all the same had seemed terribly shocked. He had ridiculed their idea that Cosgrove could have been impersonating him, and utterly refused to sanction a defence on these lines.

At the time Daunt had put this down to cousinly affection, but in the light of Tanner’s theories it seemed to take on a more sinister interpretation. What if Tanner were right, and both cousins were involved in the murder? Would not that make a horribly complete explanation of Austin’s attitude? Might the latter not fear that the bringing in of Cosgrove might be a step towards the elucidation of the whole affair? It was therefore with foreboding that Daunt set out next morning to see his client.

He had determined to try a little test. He conversed at first as on previous visits, and then when the other’s mind was occupied and he was off his guard, he said suddenly, but as carelessly as he could, “By the way, William Douglas has been arrested.”

The effect on Austin surpassed his most gloomy prognostications. Surprised out of himself, the accused man started back, his face paled and he gave vent to an exclamation of what seemed to Daunt to be veritable consternation. Then rapidly controlling himself, he tried to simulate indifference.

“William Douglas?” he repeated questioningly, “I have heard my father speak of him. An old gardener, wasn’t he? What on earth has he been doing?”

Daunt felt instinctively the reply did not ring true.

“That’s what I’ve come to ask you,” he retorted. “What were you and he doing at the boathouse on that Wednesday night?”

“My dear fellow,” Austin answered⁠—he was evidently shaken, but still spoke with a certain dignity⁠—“you forget yourself. You have no right to ask me such a question.”

“Then I withdraw it and ask you another. You told me, I think, that the Sunday evening when you dined at Luce Manor was the last occasion on which you saw Sir William alive?”

“Certainly.”

“And you repeat that now?”

“Why, of course I do.”

Daunt leant forward and spoke impressively.

“Then how do you explain your having lunched with him on the next day at the Étoile in Soho?”

Again Austin started. Daunt was sure that the shot had told. But the other only said:

“It seems to me you have mistaken the side you’re on. Are you taking prosecuting counsel’s place?”

“Good Lord, Ponson, don’t play with words,” cried the solicitor angrily. “It’s far too serious. If I’m to act for you, I must have an explanation of these things. Why have you denied being there when you were?”

“Who says I was?”

“Everyone concerned. The manager, two waiters, the porter⁠—all agree. There’s no mistake. I saw them myself. Tanner knows all about your lunch there with Sir William and Cosgrove, and about Sir William’s visit afterwards to Douglas.”

Austin was pale, and a look of positive dread showed for a moment in his eyes.