But it is one thing to be sure that you have the right man in custody, and quite another to be sure of getting him convicted by a jury. The inspector admitted that the case against Walter Brooklyn was not conclusive. His complicity was practically proved; but there was no direct evidence that he had actually struck the blows. The evidence was circumstantial; and, in these circumstances, the inspector did not disguise from himself the fact that any attempt to shift the suspicion might at least create enough doubt to make a conviction improbable. Accordingly, while Joan and Ellery were doing their best to prove Walter Brooklyn’s innocence, Inspector Blaikie was searching, with equal vigour, for further proofs of his guilt.
But he found nothing that was of material importance, so far as he could see. The sole addition to his case was the evidence of a taxi-driver, who, from his accustomed post on the rank outside the Piccadilly Theatre, had seen Walter Brooklyn pass at somewhere about half-past eleven or so; but the man could not be sure to a few minutes. This was all very well in its way, the inspector thought; but as Walter Brooklyn’s presence inside Liskeard House at about 11:30 was proved already, it could not be of much importance to prove his presence just outside at about the same time. There was, however, this to be said for the new piece of evidence. Walter Brooklyn denied the telephone message, and maintained that he had not been at Liskeard House at all. Direct evidence that he had been at the time in question within a minute’s walk of the house was certainly better than nothing.
Nothing further had come to light when, on Saturday morning, Inspector Blaikie went to Superintendent Wilson with his daily report on the case, telling him first about the taxi-man’s evidence. The superintendent seemed to attach some importance to this. “Where you have to rely on circumstantial evidence,” he said, “the accumulation of details is all-important. Every little helps. Your taxi-driver may yet be an important link in the chain.”
The inspector confided to his superior that the result of his reflections on the case was to make him far more doubtful than he had been of securing a conviction.
“Quite so,” said the superintendent. “I thought you would realise that when you had thought it over.”
The inspector replied that he saw it now, and went on to explain what he believed to be the strategy of the defence—throwing suspicion on the servants. “The trouble of it is,” he said, “that although I’m absolutely sure in my own mind that Winter had nothing whatever to do with the affair, there’s no way of proving the thing one way or the other. So far as the evidence goes, he might have done it. Of course, there’s absolutely no shred of evidence that he did; but that is not enough to prevent a clever counsel from arousing suspicion in the mind of a jury.”
“Are you so sure,” said the superintendent, “that there is no shred of evidence? I mean, of course, of what the other side may be able to dress up to look like evidence. I should say that fellow Thomas is clever enough to find something that he can make serve as a cause for suspicion, if there is anything at all that will serve. For example, this Prinsep seems to have been a bit of a beast. Is there anything to show whether Winter was on good or bad terms with him? If they had quarrelled or anything of the sort, that is just the kind of fact Thomas, or his counsel, would use to good effect.”
“You’re right there; but I’ve come across nothing that would suggest a quarrel. Morgan—that’s the valet chap—made no secret of disliking Prinsep very cordially; but Winter seems to be just the good, faithful family servant.”
“I dare say there’s nothing to be found out in that way: but you might make a note of it, and get a few inquiries made. We want to know exactly how strong the defence is likely to be. And, by the way, I suppose you still have no doubts in your own mind that Walter Brooklyn is the murderer?” The superintendent opened his eyes, and looked at the inspector as he spoke.
“None at all—at least, it seems to me practically certain. Quite as certain as the case against most men who get hanged. Do you mean that you are in doubt about it?”
The superintendent made no direct reply to this. “At any rate,” he said, “the evidence is certainly not conclusive. I suppose you have no idea whether the defence will try to prove an alibi.”
“I don’t see how they can. According to his own story, Brooklyn was just strolling about alone all the evening. He can’t prove that, surely.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. If it were true, he might have been seen by a dozen people. And, even if it weren’t true, Thomas might be able to produce witnesses who would swear they had seen him. Thomas wouldn’t stick at that. Any alibi he tries to produce will need very careful scrutiny.”
“But we know Brooklyn was in the house at 11:30.”
The superintendent smiled, and leant back in his chair. “No,” he said, “that is just where you go wrong. We don’t know it. It rests on the evidence about the telephone message. But have you considered all the possibilities about that message? The
