I wish now to show how it was that theory started, and why it was that at the inquest I made no mention of the conversation I have recorded. For my lips were sealed by the interview which occurred the following morning. I was rung up on the telephone at eleven o’clock, and an unknown voice spoke from the other end.
“Is that Mr. Stockton? It is Major Jackson speaking. I hope it won’t be inconvenient for you to come round at once to the War Office in connection with the affair last night. Ask for G branch, Room 38. Instructions will be sent down, so you will have no delay at the door.”
To Room 38, G Branch, I accordingly went, there to find four people already assembled. Seated at a desk was a tanned, keen-faced man who had soldier written all over him; whilst standing against the mantelpiece, smoking a cigarette, was a younger man, whom I recognised, as soon as he spoke, as the man who had rung me up. The other two consisted of Inspector MacIver and a thin-lipped man wearing pince-nez whose face seemed vaguely familiar.
“Mr. Stockton?” Major Jackson stepped forward and shook hands. “This is General Darton”—he indicated the man at the desk—“and this is Sir John Dallas. Inspector MacIver I think you know.”
That was why Sir John’s face had seemed familiar. As soon as I heard the name I remembered having seen his photograph in a recent copy of the Sphere, as the author of an exhaustive book on toxicology.
“Sit down, Mr. Stockton,” said the General, “and please smoke if you want to. You can guess, of course, the reason we have asked you to come round. …”
“I told him, sir,” put in Major Jackson.
“Good! Though I expect it was unnecessary. Now, Mr. Stockton, we have heard from Inspector MacIver an account of last night and what you told him. But we think it would be more satisfactory if we could hear it from you first hand.”
So once again I told them everything I knew. I recalled as far as possible, word for word, my conversation with Robin at dinner, and I noticed that the two officers glanced at one another significantly more than once. But they listened in silence, save for one interruption when I mentioned his notion of fighting indiscriminately against both sides.
It was the General who smiled at that and remarked that as an idea it had at any rate the merit of novelty.
Then I went on and outlined what had happened up till the arrival of the Inspector, paying, naturally, particular attention to the death of the constable. And it was at that point that Sir John spoke for the first time.
“Did you happen to see what part of the dog the constable touched?” he said.
“Roughly, I did, Sir John. He laid his hand on the dog’s ribs just above the left shoulder.”
He nodded as if satisfied.
“I thought as much. Now another thing. You saw this man die in front of your eyes. Did the manner of his death create any particular impression on your brain apart from its amazing suddenness?”
“It produced the impression that he had acute pain spreading from his fingers up his arm. The whole arm seemed to twist and writhe, and then he was dead.”
And once again Sir John nodded as if satisfied.
“There is only one other point which I might mention,” I concluded. “The Inspector can tell you everything that happened while he was there. As we got out of our taxi in Clarges Street, another car drove slowly by. And our driver told us that it was the same car that had been standing for hours about a hundred yards further down the road. It was empty, and this is the number.” I handed the slip of paper to MacIver, who glanced at it and gave a short laugh. “It struck us both that we might have been followed.”
“This car was found deserted in South Audley Street this morning,” he said. “Its rightful owner was arrested for being hopelessly drunk in Peckham last night at about half-past nine. And he swears by all his gods that the only drink he’d had was one whisky-and-soda with a man who was a stranger to him. His car was standing in front of the pub at the time, and he remembers nothing more till he woke up in his cell with his boots off.”
“That would seem to prove outside influence at work, Inspector,” said the General.
“Maybe, sir,” said MacIver cautiously. “Maybe not. Though it does point that way.”
“But, good Heavens, General,” I cried, “surely there can be no doubt about that. What other possible solution can there be?”
For a moment or two he drummed with his fingers on the desk.
“That brings us, Mr. Stockton,” he said gravely, “to the main reason which made us ask you to come round here this morning. We have decided to take you into our confidence, and rely upon your absolute discretion. I feel sure we can do that.”
“Certainly, sir,” I said.
“In the first place, then, you must know that the Army Council regard this as a most serious matter. There is no doubt whatever that Gaunt was a most brilliant man: his work during the war proved that. But, as you know yourself, the Armistice prevented any practical test. And there is a vast difference between theory and practice. However, with a man like that one is prepared to take a good deal on trust, and when he asked to be allowed to give us a demonstration today we granted his request at once. I may say that at the time of the
